THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 
FREDERIC  THOMAS  BLANCHARD 


HELENA'S  PATH 


-  M^^smKi 


■A^ 


Helena's  Path 


By 
ANTHONY    HOPE 

AUTHOR  OF   DOUBLE   HABNE8S 

TBISTEAM   OF   BLENT 

ETC. 


Garden  City       New  York 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1912 


Copyright,  1907,  by  Anthony  Hope  Hawk 


tns 


H 


CONTENTS 

CBAFTEB  PAQB 

I  Ambrose,  Lord  Lynborough   ....  3 

II  Largely  Topographical 15 

III  Of  Law  and  Natural  Rights      ...  33 

IV  The  Message  of  a  Padlock    ....  52 
V  The  Beginning  of  War 70 

VI  Exercise  Before  Breakfast  ....    90 

VII  Another  Wedge  ! 110 

Vni  The  Marchesa  Moves 127 

IX  Lynborough  Drops  a  Catch    .     .     .     .148 

X  In  the  Last  Resort 171 

XI  An  Armistice 186 

XII  An  Embassage 206 

XIII  The  Feast  of  St.  John  Baptist  .     .     .  223 


HELENA'S    PATH 


Chapter  One 

AMBROSE,    LORD    LYNBOROUGH 

Common  opinion  said  that  Lord  Lynbor- 
ough  ought  never  to  have  had  a  peerage  and 
forty  thousand  a  year ;  he  ought  to  have  had 
a  pound  a  week  and  a  back  bedroom  in 
Bloomsbury.  Then  he  would  have  become  an 
eminent  man;  as  it  was,  he  turned  out  only 
a  singularly  erratic  individual. 

So  much  for  common  opinion.  Let  no 
more  be  heard  of  its  dull  utilitarian  judg- 
ments !  There  are  plenty  of  eminent  men  — 
at  the  moment,  it  is  believed,  no  less  than 
seventy  Cabinet  and  ex-Cabinet  Ministers 
(or  thereabouts)  —  to  say  nothing  of  Bis- 
hops, Judges,  and  the  British  Academy,  — 

[3] 


Helena  s  Path 
and  all  this  in  a  nook  of  the  world !  (And  the 
world  too  is  a  point!)  Lynborough  was 
something  much  more  uncommon;  it  is 
not,  however,  quite  easy  to  say  what.  Let 
the  question  be  postponed;  perhaps  the 
story  itself  will  answer  it. 

He  started  life  —  or  was  started  in  it  — ■ 
in  a  series  of  surroundings  of  unimpeachable 
orthodoxy  —  Eton,  Christ  Church,  the  Gre- 
nadier Guards.  He  left  each  of  these  schools 
of  mental  culture  and  bodily  discipline,  not 
under  a  cloud  —  that  metaphor  would  be 
ludicrously  inept  —  but  in  an  explosion. 
That,  having  been  thus  shot  out  of  the  first, 
he  managed  to  enter  the  second  —  that, 
having  been  shot  out  of  the  second,  he 
walked  placidly  into  the  third  —  that,  having 
been  shot  out  of  the  third,  he  suffered  no 
apparent  damage  from  his  repeated  propul- 
sions —  these   are   matters   explicable   only 

[4] 


Ambrose,  Lord  Lynhorough 
by  a  secret  knowledge  of  British  institutions. 
His  father  was  strong,  his  mother  came  of 
stock  even  stronger;  he  himself  —  Ambrose 
Caverly  as  he  then  was  —  was  very  popular, 
and  extraordinarily  handsome  in  his  un- 
usual outlandish  style. 

His  father  being  still  alive  —  and,  though 
devoted  to  him,  by  now  apprehensive  of 
his  doings  —  his  means  were  for  the  next 
few  years  limited.  Yet  he  contrived  to  em- 
ploy himself.  He  took  a  soup-kitchen  and 
ran  it;  he  took  a  yacht  and  sank  it;  he  took  a 
public-house,  ruined  it,  and  got  himself 
severely  fined  for  watering  the  beer  in  the 
Temperance  interest.  This  injustice  rankled 
in  him  deeply,  and  seems  to  have  perma- 
nently influenced  his  development.  For  a 
time  he  forsook  the  world  and  joined  a  sect 
of  persons  who  called  themselves  "Thco- 
philanthropists"  —  and  surely  no  man  could 

[5] 


Helena's  Path 
call  himself  much  more  than  that  ?  Return- 
ing to  mundane  affairs,  he  refused  to  pay 
his  rates,  stood  for  Parliament  in  the  Socialist 
interest,  and,  being  defeated,  declared  him- 
self a  practical  follower  of  Count  Tolstoi. 
His  father  advising  a  short  holiday,  he 
went  off  and  narrowly  escaped  being  shot 
somewhere  in  tlie  Balkans,  owing  to  his 
having  taken  too  keen  an  interest  in  local 
politics.  (He  ought  to  have  been  shot;  he 
was  clear  —  and  even  vehement  —  on  that 
point  in  a  letter  which  he  wi'ote  to  The 
Times.)  Then  he  sent  for  Leonard  Stabb, 
disappeared  in  company  with  that  gentle- 
man, and  was  no  more  seen  for  some  years. 
He  could  always  send  for  Stabb,  so  faith- 
ful was  that  learned  student's  affection  for 
him.  A  few  years  Ambrose  Caverly's  senior, 
Stabb  had  emerged  late  and  painfully  from  a 
humble  origin  and  a  local  grammar  school, 

[CJ 


Ambrose,  Lord  Lynborough 
had  gone  up  to  Oxford  as  a  non-collegiate 
man,  had  gained  a  first-class  and  a  fellow- 
ship, and  had  settled  down  to  a  life  of  re- 
search. Early  in  his  career  he  became  known 
by  the  sobriquet  of  "Cromlech  Stabb"  — 
even  his  unlearned  friends  would  call  him 
"Cromlech"  oftener  than  by  any  other 
name.  His  elaborate  monograph  on  crom- 
lechs had  earned  him  the  title ;  subsequently 
he  extended  his  researches  to  other  relics  of 
ancient  religions  —  or  ancient  forms  of 
religion,  as  he  always  preferred  to  put  it; 
"there  being,"  he  would  add,  with  the  sim- 
plicity of  erudition  beaming  through  his 
spectacles  on  any  auditor,  orthodox  or  other, 
"of  course,  only  one  religion."  He  was  a  very 
large  stout  man;  his  spectacles  were  large 
too.  He  was  very  strong,  but  by  no  means 
mobile.  Ambrose's  father  regarded  Stabb's 
companionship  as  a  certain  safeguard  to  his 


Helena's  Path 
heir.  The  validity  of  this  idea  is  doubtful. 
Students  have  so  much  curiosity  —  and  so 
many  diverse  scenes  and  various  types  of 
humanity  can  minister  to  that  appetite  of  the 
mind. 

Occasional  rumors  about  Ambrose  Cav- 
erly  reached  his  native  shores ;  he  was  heard 
of  in  Morocco,  located  in  Spain,  familiar 
in  North  and  in  South  America.  Once  he 
was  not  heard  of  for  a  year;  his  father  and 
friends  concluded  that  he  must  be  dead  — 
or  in  prison.  Happily  the  latter  explanation 
proved  correct.  Once  more  he  and  the  law 
had  come  to  loggerheads ;  when  he  emerged 
from  confinement  he  swore  never  to  employ 
on  his  own  account  an  instrument  so  hateful. 

"  A  gentleman  should  fight  his  own  battles. 
Cromlech,"  he  cried  to  his  friend.  "I  did  no 
more  than  put  a  bullet  in  his  arm  —  in  a 
fair  encounter  —  and  he  let  me  go  to  prison !" 

[8] 


Ambrose,  Lord  Lynhorough 

"Monstrous !"  Stabb  agreed  with  a  smile. 
He  had  passed  the  year  in  a  dirty  Uttle  inn 
by  the  prison  gate  —  among  scoundrels,  but 
fortunately  in  the  vicinity  of  some  mounds 
distinctly   prehistoric. 

Old  Lord  Lynborough's  death  occurred 
suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  at  a  moment 
when  Ambrose  and  his  companion  could  not 
be  found.  They  were  somewhere  in  Peru  — • 
Stabb  among  the  Incas,  Ambrose  probably 
in  less  ancient  company.  It  was  six  months 
before  the  news  reached  them. 

*'I  must  go  home  and  take  up  my  re- 
sponsibilities, Cromlech,"  said  the  new 
Lord   Lynborough. 

"You  really  think  you'd  better  .?"  queried 
Stabb  doubtfully. 

"It  was  my  father's  wish." 

"Oh,  well  —  !  But  you'll  be  thought  odd 
over  there,  Ambrose." 

[9] 


Helena  s  Path 

"Odd?  I  odd?  What  the  deuce  is  there 
odd  about  me.  Cromlech  ?" 

"Everything."  The  investigator  stuck  his 
cheroot  back  in  his  mouth. 

Lynborough  considered  dispassionately 
—  as  he  fain  would  hope.  "I  don't  see 
it." 

That  was  the  difficulty.  Stabb  was  well 
aware  of  it.  A  man  who  is  odd,  and  knows  it, 
may  be  proud,  but  he  will  be  careful;  he 
may  swagger,  but  he  will  take  precautions. 
Lynborough  had  no  idea  that  he  was  odd; 
he  followed  his  nature  —  in  all  its  impulses 
and  in  all  its  whims  —  with  equal  fidelity 
and  simplicity.  This  is  not  to  say  that  he  was 
never  amused  at  himself;  every  intelligent 
observer  is  amused  at  himself  pretty  often; 
but  he  did  not  doubt  merely  because  he  was 
amused.  He  took  his  entertainment  over  his 
own  doings  as  a  bonus  life  offered.  A  great 

[10] 


Ambrose^  Lord  Lynhorough 
sincerity  of  action  and  of  feeling  was  his 
predominant  characteristic. 

"Besides,  if  I'm  odd,"  he  went  on  with  a 
laugh,  "it  won't  be  noticed.  I'm  going  to 
bury  myself  at  Scarsmoor  for  a  couple  of 
years  at  least.  I'm  thinking  of  writing  an 
autobiography.  You'll  come  with  me,  Crom- 
lech.?" 

"I  must  be  totally  undisturbed,"  Stabb 
stipulated.  "I've  a  great  deal  of  material  to 
get  into  shape." 

"There'll  be  nobody  there  but  myself  — 
and  a  secretary,  I  daresay." 

"A  secretary?  What's  that  for.?" 

"To  write  the  book,  of  course." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Stabb,  smiling  in  a  slow 
fat  fashion.  "You  won't  write  your  auto- 
biography yourself?" 

"Not  unless  I  find  it  very  engrossing." 

"Well,  I'll  come,"  said  Stabb. 

[11] 


Helena's  Path 
So  home  they  came  —  an  unusual-looking 
pair  —  Stabb  with  his  towering  bulky  frame, 
his  big  goggles,  his  huge  head  with  its  scanty 
black  locks  encircling  a  face  like  a  harvest 
moon  —  Lynborough,  tall,  too,  but  lean 
as  a  lath,  with  tiny  feet  and  hands,  a  rare 
elegance  of  carriage,  a  crown  of  chestnut  hair, 
a  long  straight  nose,  a  waving  mustache,  a 
chin  pointed  like  a  needle  and  scarcely 
thickened  to  the  eye  by  the  close-cropped, 
short,  pointed  beard  he  wore.  His  bright 
hazel  eyes  gleamed  out  from  his  face  with  an 
attractive  restlessness  that  caught  away  a 
stranger's  first  attention  even  from  the  rare 
beauty  of  the  lines  of  his  head  and  face;  it 
was  regularity  over-refined,  sharpened  al- 
most to  an  outline  of  itself.  But  his  appear- 
ance tempted  him  to  no  excesses  of  costume; 
he  had  always  despised  that  facile  path  to  a 
barren   eccentricity.    On  every  occasion  he 

[12] 


Ambrose,  Lord  Lynborough 
wore  what  all  men  of  breeding:  were  wearing, 
yet  invested  the  prescribed  costume  with  the 
individuahty  of  his  character:  this,  it  seems, 
is  as  near  as  the  secret  of  dressing  well  can 
be  tracked. 

His  manner  was  not  always  deemed  so 
free  from  affectation;  It  was,  perhaps,  a 
little  more  self-conscious;  it  was  touched 
with  a  foreign  courtliness,  and  he  employed, 
on  occasions  of  any  ceremony  or  in  Inter- 
course with  ladies,  a  certain  formality  of 
speech;  It  was  said  of  him  by  an  observant 
woman  that  he  seemed  to  be  thlnklnir  in  a 
language  more  ornate  and  picturesque  than 
his  tongue  employed.  lie  was  content  to  say 
the  apt  thing,  not  striving  after  wit;  he  was 
more  prone  to  hide  a  joke  than  to  tell  it; 
he  would  ignore  a  victory  and  laugh  at  a 
defeat ;  yet  he  followed  up  the  one  and  never 
sat  down  under  the  other,  unless  it  were  in- 

[ir.] 


Helena  s  Path 
flicted  by  one  he  loved.  He  liked  to  puzzle, 
but  took  no  conscious  pains  to  amuse. 

Thus  he  returned  to  his  "  responsibihties. " 
Cromlech  Stabb  was  wondering  what  that 
dignified  word  would  prove  to  describe. 


[14] 


Chapter  Two 

LARGELY   TOPOGRAPHICAL 

Miss  Gllletson  had  been  studying  the  local 
paper,  which  appeared  every  Saturday  and 
reached  Nab  Grange  on  the  following  morn- 
ing. She  uttered  an  exclamation,  looked  up 
from  her  small  breakfast-table,  and  called 
over  to  the  Marchesa's  small  breakfast-table. 

"Helena,  I  see  that  Lord  Lynborough 
arrived  at  the  Castle  on  Friday!" 

"Did  he,  Jennie?"  returned  the  Mar- 
chesa,  with  no  show  of  interest.  "Have  an 
egg,  Colonel  ?"  The  latter  w^ords  were  ad- 
dressed to  her  companion  at  table,  Colonel 
Wenman,  a  handsome  but  bald-headed  man 
of  about  forty. 

[15] 


Helena's  Path 
*Lord  Lynborough,  accompanied  by 
his  friend  Mr.  Leonard  Stabb,  the  well- 
known  authority  on  prehistoric  remains, 
and  Mr.  Roger  Wilbraham,  his  private 
secretary.  His  lordship's  household  had 
preceded   him   to   the   Castle.'  " 

Lady  Norah  Mountliffey  —  who  sat  with 
Miss  Gilletson  —  was  in  the  habit  of  saying 
what  she  thought.  What  she  said  now  was: 
"Thank  goodness!"  and  she  said  it  rather 
loudly. 

"You  gentlemen  haven't  been  amusing 
Norah,"  observed  the  Marchesa  to  the 
Colonel. 

"  I  hoped  that  I,  at  least,  was  engaged  on 
another  task  —  though,  alas,  a  harder  one !" 
he  answered  in  a  low  tone  and  with  a  glance 
of  respectful  homage. 

"If  you  refer  to  me,  you've  been  admir- 
ably   successful,"    the    Marchesa    assured 

[16] 


Largely  Topograjyhical 
him  graciously  —  only  with  the  graciousness 
there  mingled  that  touch  of  mockery  which 
always  made  the  Colonel  rather  ill  at  ease. 
"Amuse"  is,  moreover,  a  word  rich  in  shades 
of  meaning. 

Miss  Gilletson  was  frowning  thoughtfully. 
"  Helena  can't  call  on  him  —  and  I  don't 
suppose  he'll  call  on  her,"  she  said  to 
Nor  ah. 

"He'll  get  to  know  her  if  he  wants  to." 

*'I  might  call  on  him,"  suggested  the 
Colonel.  "He  was  in  the  service,  you  know, 
and  that  —  er  —  makes  a  bond.  Queer 
fellow  he  was,  by  Jove!" 

Captain  Irons  and  Mr.  Stillford  came  in 
from  riding,  late  for  brealvfast.  They  com- 
pleted the  pa'-ty  at  table,  for  Violet  Dufaure 
always  took  the  first  meal  of  the  day  in 
bed.  Irons  was  a  fine  young  man,  still  in  the 
twenties,   very  fair  and  very  bronzed.   He 

[17] 


Helena's  Path 
had  seen  fighting  and  was  great  at  polo. 
Stillford,  though  a  man  of  peace  (if  a 
soHcitor  may  so  be  called) ,  was  by  no  means 
inferior  in  physique.  A  cadet  of  a  good 
county  family,  he  was  noted  in  the  hunting 
field  and  as  a  long-distance  swimmer.  He 
had  come  to  Nab  Grange  to  confer  with  the 
Marchesa  on  her  affairs,  but,  proving  him- 
self an  acquisition  to  the  party,  had  been 
pressed  to  stay  on  as  a  guest. 

The  men  began  to  bandy  stories  of  Lyn- 
borough  from  one  table  to  the  other.  Wen- 
man  knew  the  London  gossip,  Stillford  the 
local  traditions:  but  neither  had  seen  the 
hero  of  their  tales  for  many  years.  The  anec- 
dotes delighted  Norah  Mounthffey,  and 
caused  Miss  Gilletson's  hands  to  fly  up  in 
horror.  Nevertheless  it  was  Miss  Gilletson 
who  said,  "Perhaps  we  shall  jiee  him  at 
church  to-day.'* 

[18] 


Largely  Topographical 

"Not  likely!"  Stillford  opined.  "And  — 

er  —  is  anybody  going  ?" 

The  pause  which  habitually  follows  this 

question  ensued  upon  it  now.  Neither  the 

Marchesa  nor  Lady  Norah  would  go  —  they 

were  both  of  the  Old  Church.  Miss  Dufaure 

was  unlikely  to  go,  by  reason  of  fatigue. 

Miss    Gilletson   would,    of   course,   go,    so 

would  Colonel  Wenman  —  but  that  was  so 

well  known  that  they  didn't  speak. 

"Any  ladies  with  Lynborough's  party,  I 

wonder!"  Captain  Irons  hazarded.  "I  think 

I'll  go !  Stillford,  you  ought  to  go  to  church  — 

family  solicitor  and  all  that,  eh  .^" 

A  message  suddenly  arrived  from  Miss 

Dufaure,  to  say  that  she  felt  better  and 
proposed  to  attend  church  —  could  she  be 
sent  ? 

"The   carriage   is   going   anyhow,"   said 
Miss  Gilletson  a  trifle  stiffly. 

[19] 


Helena  s  Path 

"  Yes  J I  suppose  I  ought, "  Stillford  agreed. 
"We'll  drive  there  and  walk  back  ?" 

"Right  you  are!"  said  the  Captain. 

By  following  the  party  from  Nab  Grange 
to  Fillby  parish  church,  a  partial  idea  of  the 
locality  would  be  gained;  but  perhaps  it  is 
better  to  face  the  complete  task  at  once. 
Idle  tales  suit  idle  readers ;  a  history  such  as 
this  may  legitimately  demand  from  those 
who  study  it  some  degree  of  mental  applica- 
tion. 

If,  then,  the  traveler  lands  from  the  North 
Sea  (which  is  the  only  sea  he  can  land  from) 
he  will  find  himself  on  a  sandy  beach, 
dipping  rapidly  to  deep  water  and  well 
adapted  for  bathing.  As  he  stands  facing  in- 
land, the  sands  stretch  in  a  long  line  souther- 
ly on  his  left;  on  his  right  rises  the  bold 
bluff  of  Sandy  Nab  with  its  swelling  outline, 
its  grass-covered  dunes,  and  its  sparse  firs; 

[20] 


Largely  Topographical 
directly  in  front  of  him,  abutting  on  the 
beach,  is  the  high  wall  Inclosing  the  Grange 
property;  a  gate  in  the  middle  gives  access 
to  the  grounds.  The  Grange  faces  south,  and 
lies  in  the  shelter  of  Sandy  Nab.  In  front  of 
it  are  pleasure-grounds,  then  a  sunk  fence, 
then  spacious  meadow-lands.  The  property 
is  about  a  mile  and  a  half  (rather  more 
than  less)  in  length,  to  half-a-mile  in  breadth. 
Besides  the  Grange  there  is  a  small  farm- 
house, or  bailiff's  house,  in  the  southwest 
corner  of  the  estate.  On  the  north  the 
boundary  consists  of  moorlands,  to  the  east 
(as  has  been  seen)  of  the  beach,  to  the  west 
and  south  of  a  public  road.  At  the  end  of  the 
Grange  walls  this  road  turns  to  the  right, 
inland,  and  passes  by  Fillby  village;  it  then 
develops  into  the  highroad  to  Easthorpe 
with  its  market,  shops,  and  station,  ten  miles 
away.   Instead,   however,   of  pursuing   this 

[21] 


Helena  s  Path 
longer  route,  the  traveler  from  the  Grange 
grounds  may  rr;ach  Fillbj  and  Easthorpe 
sooner  by  crossing  the  road  on  the  west,  and 
traversing  the  Scarsmoor  Castle  property, 
across  which  runs  a  broad  carriage  road, 
open  to  the  public.  He  will  first  —  after 
entering  Lord  Lynborough's  gates  —  pass 
over  a  bridge  which  spans  a  little  river,  often 
nearly  dry^  but  liable  to  be  suddenly  flooded 
by  a  rainfall  in  the  hills.  Thus  he  enters  a 
beautiful  demesne,  rich  in  wood  and  under- 
growth, in  hill  and  valley,  in  pleasant  rides 
and  winding  drives.  The  Castle  itself  —  an 
ancient  gray  building,  square  and  massive, 
stands  on  an  eminence  in  the  northwest 
extremity  of  the  property;  the  ground  drops 
rapidly  in  front  of  it,  and  it  commands  a 
view  of  Nab  Grange  and  the  sea  beyond, 
being  in  its  turn  easily  visible  from  either  of 
these  points.  The  road  above  mentioned,  on 

[22] 


Largely  Topograjyhical 
leaving  Lynborough's  park,  runs  across  the 
moors  in  a  southwesterly  Hne  to  Fillby,  a 
little  village  of  some  three  hundred  souls. 
All  around  and  behind  this,  stretching  to 
Easthorpe,  are  great  rolling  moors,  rich  in 
beauty  as  in  opportunities  for  sport,  yet 
cutting  off  the  little  settlement  of  village, 
Castle,  and  Grange  from  the  outer  world 
by  an  isolation  more  complete  than  the  mere 
distance  would  in  these  days  seem  to  entail. 
The  church,  two  or  three  little  shops,  and 
one  policeman,  sum  up  Fillby 's  resources: 
anything  more,  for  soul's  comfort,  for  body's 
supply  or  protection,  must  come  across  the 
moors  from  Easthorpe. 

One  point  remains  —  reserved  to  the  end 
by  reason  of  its  importance.  A  gate  has  been 
mentioned  as  opening  on  to  the  beach  from 
the  grounds  of  Nab  Grange.  He  who  enters 
at   that  gate   and   makes   for   the   Grange 

[23] 


Helena  s  Path 
follows  the  path  for  about  two  hundred 
yards  in  a  straight  line,  and  then  takes  a 
curving  turn  to  the  right,  which  in  time 
brings  him  to  the  front  door  of  the  house. 
But  the  path  goes  on — growing  indeed  nar- 
rower, ultimately  becoming  a  mere  grass- 
grown  track,  yet  persisting  quite  plain  to 
see  —  straight  across  the  meadows,  about 
a  hundred  yards  beyond  the  sunk  fence 
which  bounds  the  Grange  gardens,  and  in 
full  view  from  the  Grange  windows;  and  it 
desists  not  from  its  course  till  it  reaches  the 
rough  stone  wall  which  divides  the  Grange 
estate  from  the  highroad  on  the  west.  This 
wall  it  reaches  at  a  point  directly  opposite 
to  the  Scarsmoor  lodge;  in  the  wall  there 
is  a  gate,  through  which  the  traveler  must 
pass  to  gain  the  road. 

There  is  a  gate  —  and  there  had  always 
been  a  gate;  that  much  at  least  is  undisputed. 

[24] 


Largely  TopograpJdcal 
It  will,  of  course,  be  obvious  that  if  the  resi- 
dents at  the  Castle  desired  to  reach  the  beach 
for  the  purpose  of  bathing  or  other  diver- 
sions, and  proposed  to  go  on  their  feet, 
incomparably  their  best,  shortest,  and  most 
convenient  access  thereto  lay  through  this 
gate  and  along  the  path  which  crossed  the 
Grange  property  and  issued  through  the 
Grange  gate  on  to  the  seashore.  To  go  round 
by  the  road  would  take  at  least  three  times 
as  long.  Now  the  season  was  the  month  of 
June ;  Lord  Lynborough  was  a  man  tenacious 
of  his  rights  —  and  uncommonly  fond  of 
bathing. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  might  well  be  that 
the  Marchesa  di  San  Servolo  —  the  present 
owner  of  Nab  Grange  —  would  prefer  that 
strangers  should  not  pass  across  her  property, 
in  full  view  and  liail  of  her  windows,  with- 
out her  permission  and  consent.  That  this, 

[251 


Helena  s  Path 
indeed,  was  the  lady's  attitude  might  be 
gathered  from  the  fact  that,  on  this  Sunday 
morning  in  June,  Captain  Irons  and  Mr. 
Stillford,  walking  back  through  the  Scars- 
moor  grounds  from  Fillby  church  as  they 
had  proposed,  found  the  gate  leading  from 
the  road  into  the  Grange  meadows  securely 
padlocked.  Having  ignored  this  possibility, 
they  had  to  climb,  incidentally  displacing, 
but  carefully  replacing,  a  number  of  prickly 
furze  branches  which  the  zeal  of  the  Mar- 
chesa's  bailiff  had  arranged  along  the  top 
rail  of  the  gate. 

"Boys  been  coming  in.^"  asked  Irons. 

"It  may  be  that,"  said  Stillford,  smiling 
as  he  arranged  the  prickly  defenses  to  the 
best  advantage. 

The  Grange  expedition  to  church  had  to 
confess  to  having  seen  nothing  of  the  Castle 
party  —  and  in  so  far  it  was  dubbed  a  failure. 

[26] 


Largely  Topogra'phical 
There  was  indeed  a  decorous  row  of  servants 
in  the  household  scat,  but  the  square  oaken 
pew  in  the  chancel,  with  its  brass  rods  and 
red  curtains  in  front,  and  its  fireplace  at  the 
back,  stood  empty.  The  two  men  reported 
having  met,  as  they  walked  home  through 
Scarsmoor,  a  very  large  fat  man  with  a  face 
which  they  described  variously,  one  likening 
it  to  the  sinking  sun  on  a  misty  day,  the  other 
to  a  copper  saucepan. 

"Not  Lord  Lynborough,  I  do  trust!" 
shuddered  little  Violet  Dufaure.  She  and 
Miss  Gilletson  had  driven  home  by  the  road, 
regaining  the  Grange  by  the  south  gate  and 
the  main  drive. 

Stillford  was  by  the  Marchesa.  He  spoke 
to  her  softly,  covered  by  the  general  conver- 
sation. "You  might  have  told  us  to  take  a 
key!"  he  said  reproachfully.  "That  gorse 
is  very  dangerous  to  a  man's  Sunday  clothes. " 

[27] 


Ilelencis  Path 

"It  looks  —  businesslike,  doesn't  it  ?"  she 
smiled. 

"Oh,  uncommon!  When  did  you  have  it 
done  ?" 

"The  day  before  yesterday.  I  wanted 
there  to  be  no  mistake  from  the  very  first. 
That's  the  best  way  to  prevent  any  unpleas- 
antness." 

"Possibly."  Stillford  sounded  doubtful. 
"  Going  to  have  a  notice-board,  Marchesa  V* 

"He  will  hardly  make  that  necessary, 
will  he.?" 

"Well,  I  told  you  that  in  my  judgment 
your  right  to  shut  it  against  him  is  very 
doubtful." 

"You  told  me  a  lot  of  things  I  didn't 
understand,"  she  retorted  rather  pettishly. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  laugh. 
No  good  lay  in  anticipating  trouble.  Lord 
Lynborough  might  take  no  notice. 

[28] 


Largely  I'opographical 
In  the  afternoon  the  Marchesa's  guests 
played  golf  on  a  rather  makeshift  nine-hole 
course  laid  out  in  the  meadows.  Miss  Gillet- 
son  slept.  The  Marchesa  herself  mounted 
the  top  of  Sandy  Nab,  and  reviewed  her 
situation.  The  Colonel  would  doubtless  have 
liked  to  accompany  her,  but  he  was  not 
thereto  invited. 

Helena  Vittoria  Maria  Antonia,  Mar- 
chesa di  San  Servolo,  was  now  in  her  twentv- 
fourth  year.  Born  of  an  Italian  father  and  i.n 
English  mother,  she  had  bestowed  her  hand 
on  her  paternal  coinitry,  but  her  heart  re- 
mained in  her  mother's.  The  INIarchese 
took  her  as  his  second  wife  and  his  last 
pecuniary  resource;  in  both  capacities  she 
soothed  his  declining  years.  Happily  for  her 

—  and  not  unhappily  for  the  world  at  large 

—  these  were  few.  He  had  not  time  to  absorb 
her  youth  or  to  spend  more  than  a  small 

[29] 


Helena  s  Path 
portion  of  lier  inheritance.  She  was  left 
a  widow  —  stepmother  of  adult  Italian 
offspring  —  owner  for  life  of  an  Aj^ennine 
fortress.  She  liked  the  fortress  much,  but 
disliked  the  stepchildren  (the  youngest  was  of 
her  own  age)  more.  England  —  her  mother's 
home  —  presented  itself  in  the  light  of  a 
refuge.  In  short,  she  had  grave  doubts  about 
ever  returning  to  Italy. 

Nab  Grange  was  in  the  market.  Ances- 
trally a  possession  of  the  Caverlys  (for  cen- 
turies a  noble  but  unennobled  family  in 
those  parts),  it  had  served  for  the  family's 
dower-house,  till  a  bad  race-meeting  had  in- 
duced the  squire  of  the  day  to  sell  it  to  a  Mr. 
Cross  of  Leeds.  The  Crosses  held  it  for 
seventy  years.  Then  the  executors  of  the  last 
Cross  sold  it  to  the  Marchesa.  This  final 
transaction  happened  a  year  before  Lyn- 
borough  came  home.  The  "Beach  Path" 

[30] 


Largely  Topographical 
had,  as  above  recorded,  been  closed  only  for 
two  days. 

The  path  was  not  just  now  in  the  Mar- 
chesa's  thoughts.  Nothing  very  definite  was. 
Rather,  as  her  eyes  ranged  from  moor  to 
sea,  from  the  splendid  uniformity  of  the  un- 
clouded sky  to  the  ravishing  variety  of  many- 
tinted  earth,  from  the  green  of  the  Grange 
meadows  (the  one  spot  of  rich  emerald  on 
the  near  coast-line,  owing  its  hues  to  Sandy 
Nab's  kindly  shelter)  to  the  gray  mass  of 
Scarsmoor  Castle  —  there  was  in  her  heart 
that  great  mixture  of  content  and  longing 
that  youth  and  —  (what  put  bluntly  amounts 
to)  —  a  fine  day  are  apt  to  raise.  And  youth 
allied  with  beauty  becomes  self-assertive, 
a  claimant  against  the  world,  a  plaintiff 
against  facts  before  High  Heaven's  tribunal. 
The  Marchesa  was  infinitely  delighted  with 
Nab  Grange  —  graciously  content  with  Na- 

[31] 


Helena'' s  Path 
ture  —  not  ill-pleased  with  herself  —  but, 
in  fine,  somewhat  discontented  with  her 
company.  That  was  herself  ?  Not  precisely, 
though,  at  the  moment,  objectively.  She 
was  wondering  whether  her  house-party 
was  all  that  her  youth  and  her  beauty  —  to 
say  nothing  of  her  past  endurance  of  the 
Marchese  —  entitled  her  to  claim  and  to 
enjoy. 

Then  suddenly  across  her  vision,  cutting 
the  sky-line,  seeming  to  divide  for  a  moment 
heaven  above  from  earth  beneath,  passed 
a  tall  meager  figure,  and  a  head  of  lines  clean 
as  if  etched  by  a  master's  needle.  The  profile 
stood  as  carved  in  fine  ivory;  glints  of  color 
flashed  from  hair  and  beard.  The  man  softly 
sang  a  love  song  as  he  walked  —  but  he 
never  looked  toward  the  Marchesa. 

She  sat  up  suddenly.  "  Could  that  be  Lord 
Lynborough  .?"  she  thought  —  and  smiled. 

[32] 


CJiapter  Three 

OF   LAW   AND    NATURAL   RIGHTS 

Lynborough  sat  on  the  terrace  which  ran 
alonjr  the  front  of  the  Castle  and  looked 
down,  over  Nab  Grange,  to  the  sea.  With 
him  were  Leonard  Stabb  and  Roger  Wil- 
braliam.  The  latter  was  a  rather  short, 
slight  man  of  dark  complexion;  although  a 
light-weight  he  was  very  wiry  and  a  fine 
boxer.  His  intellectual  gifts  corresponded 
well  with  his  physical  equipment;  an  acute 
ready  mind  was  apt  to  deal  with  every-day 
problems  and  pressing  necessities;  it  had 
little  turn  either  for  speculation  or  for  fancy. 
He  had  dreams  neither  aljout  the  past, 
like  Stabb,  nor  about  present  things,  like 

[33] 


Helena  s  Path 
Lynborough.  His  was,  in  a  word,  the  prac- 
tical spirit,  and  Lynborough  could  not  have 
chosen  a  better  right-hand  man. 

They  were  all  smoking;  a  silence  had 
rested  long  over  the  party,  hi  last  Lyn- 
borough spoke. 

"There's  always,"  he  said,  "something 
seductive  in  looking  at  a  house  when  you 
know  nothing  about  the  people  who  live  in  it." 

"But  I  know  a  good  deal  about  them," 
Wilbraham  interposed  with  a  laugh.  "Colt- 
son's  been  pumping  all  the  village,  and  I've 
had  the  benefit  of  it."  Coltson  was  Lyn- 
borough's  own  man,  an  old  soldier  who 
had  been  with  him  nearly  fifteen  years  and 
had  accompanied  him  on  all  his  travels 
and  excursions. 

Lynborough  paid  no  heed ;  he  was  not  the 
man  to  be  put  off  his  reflections  by  intrusive 
facts. 

[34] 


0/  Law  and  Natural  Rights 

"The  blank  wall  of  a  strange  house  is 
like  the  old  green  curtain  at  the  theater.  It 
may  rise  for  you  any  moment  and  show 
you  —  what  ?  Now  what  is  there  at  Nab 
Grange?" 

*'A  lot  of  country  bumpkins,  I  expect," 
growled   Stabb. 

"No,  no,"  Wilbraham  protested.  "I'll 
tell  you,  if  you  like " 

"\^^lat's  there  .^"  Lynborough  pursued. 
*'I  don't  know.  You  don't  know  —  no,  you 
don't,  Roger,  and  you  probably  wouldn't 
even  if  you  were  inside.  But  I  like  not  know- 
ing —  I  don't  want  to  know.  We  w^on't 
visit  at  the  Grange,  I  think.  We  will  just 
idealize  it.  Cromlech."  He  cast  his  queer 
elusive  smile  at  his  friend. 

"Bosh!"  said  Stabb.  "There's  sure  to  be 
a  woman  there  —  and  I'll  be  bound  she'll 
call  on  you!" 

[35] 


Helena's  Path 

"She'll  call  on  me?  Why?" 

"Because  you're  a  lord,"  said  Stabb, 
scorning  any  more  personal  form  of  flattery. 

"That  fortuitous  circumstance  should,  in 
my  judgment,  rather  afford  me  protection." 

"  If  you  come  to  that,  she's  somebody  her- 
self." Wilbraham's  knowledge  would  bubble 
out,  for  all  the  want  of  encouragement. 

"Everybody's  somebody,"  murmured 
Lynborough  —  "  and  it  is  a  very  odd  ar- 
rangement. Can't  be  regarded  as  permanent, 
eh.  Cromlech  ?  Immortality  by  merit  seems 
a  better  idea.  And  by  merit  I  mean  originality. 
Well  —  I  sha'n't  know  the  Grange,  but  I  hke 
to  look  at  it.  The  way  I  picture  her " 

"Picture  whom?"  asked  Stabb. 

"Why,  the  Lady  of  the  Grange,  to  be 
sure " 

"Tut,  tut,  who's  thinking  of  the  wo- 
man ?  —  if  there  is  a  woman  at  all." 

[36] 


Of  Law  and  Natural  Rights- 

*'I  am  thinking  of  the  woman.  Cromlech, 
and  I've  a  perfect  right  to  think  of  her.  At 
least,  if  not  of  that  woman,  of  a  woman  — 
whose  like  I've  never  met." 

"  She  must  be  of  an  unusual  type, "  opined 
Stabb  with  a  reflective  smile. 

"She  is.  Cromlech.  Shall  I  describe  her  ?" 

"I  expect  you  must. " 

"  Yes,  at  this  moment  —  with  the  evening 
just  this  color  —  and  the  Grange  down 
there  —  and  the  sea,  Cromlech,  so  remark- 
ably large,  I'm  afraid  I  must.  She  is,  of 
course,  tall  and  slender;  she  has,  of  course,  a 
rippling  laugh;  her  eyes  are,  of  course, 
deep  and  dreamy,  yet  lighting  to  a  sparkle 
when  one  challenges.  All  this  may  be  pre- 
supposed. It's  her  tint,  Cromlech,  her  color 
—  that's  what's  in  my  mind  to-night;  that, 
you  will  find,  is  her  most  distinguishing, 
her  most  wonderful  characteristic." 

[37] 


Helena^ s  Path 

"That's  just  what  the  Vicar  told  Coltson! 
At  least  he  said  that  the  Marchesa  had  a 
most  extraordinary  complexion."  Wilbra- 
ham  had  got   something  out   at  last. 

*'  Roger,  you  bring  me  back  to  earth.  You 
substitute  the  Vicar's  impression  for  my 
imagination.  Is  that  kind  .?" 

"It  seems  such  a  funny  coincidence." 

"  Supposing  it  to  be  a  mere  coincidence  — 
no  doubt !  But  I've  always  known  that  I  had 
to  meet  that  complexion  somewhere.  If  here 
■ —  so  much  the  better!" 

"I  have  a  great  doubt  about  that,"  said 
Leonard  Stabb. 

"I  can  get  over,  it  Cromlech!  At  least 
consider  that." 

"But  you're  not  going  to  know  her!" 
laughed  Wilbraham. 

"I  shall  probably  see  her  as  we  walk 
down  to  bathe  by  Beach  Path." 

[38] 


Of  Law  and  Natural  Rights 

A  deferential  voice  spoke  from  beliiiiJ 
his  chair.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  lord,  but 
Beach  Path  is  closed."  Coltson  had  brought 
Lynborough  his  cigar-case  and  laid  it  down 
on  a  table  by  him  as  he  communicated  this 
intelligence. 

"Closed,   Coltson.^" 

"Yes,  my  lord.  There's  a  padlock  on  the 
gate,  and  a  —  er  —  barricade  of  furze.  And 
the  gardeners  tell  me  they  were  warned  off 
yesterday." 

"^ly  gardeners  warned  off  Beach 
Path.?" 

"Yes,  my  lord." 

"By  whose  orders  .?" 

"Her  Excellency's,  my  lord." 

"  That's  the  INIarchesa  —  Marchesa  di 
San  Servolo,"  Wilbraham  supplied. 

"Yes,  that's  the  name,  sir,"  said  Coltson 
respectfully. 

[39] 


Helena  s  Path 

"What  about  her  complexion  now,  Am- 
brose?" chuckled  Stabb. 

"  The  Marchesa  di  San  Servolo  ?  Is  that 
right,  Coltson?" 

"Perfectly  correct,  my  lord.  Italian,  I 
understand,  my  lord." 

"Excellent,  excellent!  She  has  closed  my 
Beach  Path  ?  I  think  I  have  reflected  enough 
for  to-night.  I'll  go  in  and  write  a  letter." 
He  rose,  smiled  upon  Stabb,  who  himself 
was  grinning  broadly,  and  walked  through 
an  open  window  into  the  house. 

"Now  you  may  see  something  happen," 
said  Leonard  Stabb. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Is  it  a  public  path  .''" 
asked  Wilbraham. 

With  a  shrug  Stabb  denied  all  know- 
ledge —  and,  probably,  all  interest.  Coltson, 
who  had  lingered  behind  his  master,  under- 
took to  reply. 

[40] 


Of  Law  and  A  atural  Rights 

"  Not  exactly  public,  as  I  understand,  sir. 
But  the  Castle  has  always  used  it.  Green  — 
that's  the  head-gardener  —  tells  me  so,  at 
leasts" 

"By  legal  right,  do  you  mean  ?"  Wilbra- 
ham  had  been  called  to  the  Bar,  although  he 
had  never  practised.  No  situation  gives  rise 
to  greater  confidence  on  legal  problems. 

"I  don't  think  you'll  find  that  his  lordship 
will  trouble  much  about  that,  sir,"  was 
Coltson's  answer,  as  he  picked  up  the  cigar- 
case  again  and  hurried  into  the  library  with 
it. 

*'Wliat  does  the  man  mean  by  that?" 
asked  Wilbraham  scornfully.  "It's  a  purely 
legal  question  —  Lynborough  must  trouble 
about  it."  He  rose  and  addressed  Stal)b 
somewhat  as  though  that  gentleman  were 
the  Court.  "  Not  a  public  right  of  way  ? 
We  don't  argue  that  ?  Then  it's  a  case  of 

[41] 


Helena's  Path 
dominant  and  servient  tenement  —  a  right 
of  way  by  user  as  of  right,  or  by  a  lost  grant. 
That  —  or  nothing!" 

"I  daresay,"  muttered  Stabb  very  ab- 
sently. 

"Then  what  does  Coltson  mean ?" 

"  Coltson  knows  Ambrose  —  you  don't. 
Ambrose  will  never  go  to  law  —  but  he'll 
go  to  bathe." 

*'  But  she'll  go  to  law  if  he  goes  to  bathe !" 
cried  the  lawyer. 

Stabb  blinked  lazily,  and  seemed  to  loom 
enormous  over  his  cigar.  *'  I  daresay  —  if 
she's  got  a  good  case,"  said  he.  "Do  you 
know,  Wilbraham,  I  don't  much  care 
whether  she  does  or  not  ?  But  in  regard  to 
her  complexion " 

"What  the  devil  does  her  complexion 
matter?"  shouted  Wilbraham. 

"The    human    side    of    a    thing    always 

[42] 


Of  Law  and  Natural  Rights 
matters,"  observed  Leonard  Stabb.  "For 
instance  —  pray  sit  down,  Wilbraham  — 
standing  up  and  talking  loud  prove  nothing, 
if  people  would  only  believe  it  —  the  per- 
manence of  hierarchical  systems  may  be 
historically  observed  to  bear  a  direct  relation 
to  the  emoluments." 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  your  opinion 
on  two  points,  Stabb  ?  We  can  go  on  with 
that  argument  of  yours  afterward." 

"Say  on,  Wilbraham." 

"Is  Lynborough  in  his  right  senses  ?" 
The  point  is  doubtful." 
'Are  you  in  yours  ?'* 

Stabb  reflected.  "I  am  sane  —  but  veiy 
highly  specialized,"  was  his  conclusion. 

Wilbraham  wrinkled  his  brow.  "All  the 
same,  right  of  way  or  no  right  of  way  is 
purely  a  legal  question,"  he  persisted. 

"I  think  you're  highly  specialized  too," 

[43] 


t( 


(( 


Helena  s  Path 
said  Stabb.  "  But  you'd  better  keep  quiet  and 
see  it  through,  you  know.  There  may  be 
some  fun  —  it  will  serve  to  amuse  the  Arch- 
deacon when  you  write."  Wilbraham's 
father  was  a  highly  esteemed  dignitary  of 
the  order  mentioned. 

Lynborough  came  out  again,  smoking  a 
cigar.  His  manner  was  noticeably  more 
alert:  his  brow  was  unclouded,  his  whole 
mien  tranquil  and  placid. 

"I've  put  it  all  right,"  he  observed.  "I've 
written  her  a  civil  letter.  Will  you  men  bathe 
to-morrow  .^" 

They  both  assented  to  the  proposition. 

"  Very  well.  We'll  start  at  eight.  We  may 
as  well  walk.  By  Beach  Path  it's  only  about 
half-a-mile. " 

"But  the  path's  stopped,  Ambrose," 
Stabb  objected. 

"I've  asked  her  to  have  the  obstruction 

[44] 


0/  Law  and  Natural  Rights 
removed  before  eight  o'clock,"  Lynborough 
explained. 

*'If  it  isn't?"  asked  Roger  Wilbraham. 

"We  have  hands,"  answered  Lynborough, 
looking  at  his  own  very  small  ones. 

"Wilbraham  wants  to  know  why  you 
don't  go  to  law,  Ambrose." 

Lord  Lynborough  never  shrank  from  ex- 
plaining his  views  and  convictions. 

"The  law  disgusts  me.  So  does  my  ex- 
perience of  it.  You  remember  the  beer. 
Cromlech  ?  Nobody  ever  acted  more  wisely 
or  from  better  motives.  And  if  I  made  money 

—  as  I  did,  till  the  customers  left  off  coming 

—  why  not  ?  I  was  unobtrusively  doing  good. 
Then  Juanita's  affair!  I  acted  as  a  gentle- 
man is  bound  to  act.  Result  —  a  year's 
imprisonment !  I  lay  stress  on  these  personal 
experiences,  but  not  too  great  stress.  The 
law,  Roger,  always  considers  what  you  have 

[45] 


Helena  s  Path 
had  and  what  you  now  have  —  never  what 
you  ought  to  have.  Take  that  path!  It 
happens  to  be  a  fact  that  my  grandfather, 
and  my  father,  and  I  have  always  used  that 
path.    That's    important   by   law,   I   dare- 

say 

"Certainly,  Lord  Lynborough." 
"Just  what  would  be  important  by  law!" 
commented  Lynborough.  "And  I  have 
made  use  of  the  fact  in  my  letter  to  the 
Marchesa.  But  in  my  own  mind  I  stand  on 
reason  and  natural  right.  Is  it  reasonable 
that  I,  living  half-a-mile  from  my  bathing, 
should  have  to  walk  two  miles  to  get  to  it  ? 
Plainly  not.  Isn't  it  the  natural  right  of  the 
owner  of  Scarsmoor  to  have  that  path  open 
through  Nab  Grange  ?  Plainly  yes.  That, 
Roger,  although,  as  I  say,  not  the  shape  in 
which  I  have  put  the  matter  before  the  Mar- 
chesa —  because  she,  being  a  woman,  would 

[46] 


Of  Laio  and  Natural  Rights 
be  unappreciative  of  pure  reason  —  is  really 
the  way  in  which  the  question  presents  it- 
self to  my  mind  —  and,  I'm  sure,  to  Crom- 
lech's ?" 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world  to  mine,"  said 
Stabb.  "  However,  Ambrose,  the  young  man 
thinks  us  both  mad." 

"You  do,  Roger?"  His  smile  persuaded 
to  an  affirmative  reply. 

"I'm  afraid  so.  Lord  Lynborough." 

"No  'Lord,'  if  you  love  me!  Why  do  you 
think  me  mad  .^  Cromlech,  of  course,  is  mad, 
so  we  needn't  bother  about  him." 

"You're  not  —  not  practical,"  stammered 
Roger. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  really  I  don't  know. 
You'll  see  that  I  shall  get  that  path  open. 
And  in  the  end  I  did  get  that  public-house 
closed.  And  Juanita's  husband  had  to  leave 
the  country,  owing  to  the  heat  of  local  feeling 

[47] 


Helena  s  Path 
—  aroused  entirely  by  me.  Juanita  stayed 
behind  and,  after  due  formalities,  married 
again  most  happily.  I'm  not  altogether  in- 
clined to  call  myself  unpractical.  Roger!" 
He  turned  quickly  to  his  secretary.  "Your 
father's  what  they  call  a  High  Churchman, 
isn't  he.?" 

"Yes  —  and  so  am  I,"  said  Roger. 

"He  has  his  Church.  He  puts  that  above 
the  State,  doesn't  he  ?  He  wouldn't  obey  the 
State  against  the  Church  ?  He  wouldn't 
do  what  the  Church  said  was  wrong  because 
the  State  said  it  was  right  ?" 

" How  could  he  ?  Of  course  he  wouldn't," 
answered  Roger. 

"  Well,  I  have  my  Church  —  inside  here. " 
He  touched  his  breast.  "  I  stand  where  your 
father  does.  Why  am  I  more  mad  than  the 
Archdeacon,  Roger  .'^ " 

"But  there's  all  the  difference!" 

[48] 


Of  Law  and  Natural  Rights 

"Of  course  there  is,"  said  Stabb.  "All  the 
difference  that  there  is  between  being  able 
to  do  it  and  not  being  able  to  do  it  —  and  I 
know  of  none  so  profound." 

"There's  no  difference  at  all,'*  declared 
Lynborough.  "Therefore  —  as  a  good  son, 
no  less  than  as  a  good  friend  —  you  will 
come  and  bathe  with  me  to-morrow  ?" 

"Oh,  I'll  come  and  bathe,  by  all  means, 
Lynborough." 

"By  all  means !  Well  said,  young  man.  By 
all  means,  that  is,  which  are  becoming  in 
opposing  a  lady.  What  precisely  those  may 
be  we  well  consider  when  we  see  the  strength 
of  her  opposition." 

"That  doesn't  sound  so  very  unpractical, 
after  all,"  Stabb  suggested  to  Roger. 

Lynborough  took  his  stand  before  Stabb, 
hands  in  pockets,  smiling  down  .'^t  the  bulk 
of  his  friend. 

[49] 


Helena  s  Path 

'*0  Cromlech,  Haunter  of  Tombs,"  he 
said,  "  Cromlech,  Lover  of  Men  long  Dead, 
there  is  a  possible  —  indeed  a  probable  — ■ 
chance  —  there  is  a  divine  hope  —  that  Life 
may  breathe  here  on  this  coast,  that  the 
blood  may  run  quick,  that  the  world  may 
move,  that  our  old  friend  Fortune  may 
smile,  and  trick,  and  juggle,  and  favor  us 
once  more.  This,  Cromlech,  to  a  man  who 
had  determined  to  reform,  who  came  home 
to  assume  —  what  was  it  ?  Oh  yes  —  re- 
sponsibilities !  —  this  is  most  extraordinary 
luck.  Never  shall  it  be  said  that  Ambrose 
Caverly,  being  harnessed  and  carrying  a 
bow,  turned  himself  back  in  the  day  of 
battle!" 

He  swayed  himself  to  and  fro  on  his  heels, 
and  broke  into  merry  laughter. 

"She'll  get  the  letter  to-night,  Cromlech. 
I've  sent  Coltson  down  with  it  —  he  pro- 

[50] 


0/  Law  and  Natural  Rights 
ceeds  decorously  by  the  highroad  and  the 
main  approach.  But  she'll  get  it.  Cromlech, 
will  she  read  it  with  a  beating  heart  ?  Will 
she  read  it  with  a  flushing  cheek  ?  And  if  so. 
Cromlech,  what,  I  ask  you,  will  be  the 
particular  shade  of  that  particular  flush?'* 

"  Oh,  the  sweetness  of  the  game !"  said  he. 

Over  Nab  Grange  the  stars  seemed  to 
twinkle  roguishly. 


[51] 


Chapter  Four 

THE   MESSAGE    OF   A    PADLOCK 

Lord  Lynborough  presents  his  compliments  to  her  Ex- 
cellency the  Marchesa  di  San  Servolo.  Lord  Lynborough 
has  learnt,  with  surprise  and  regret,  that  his  servants  have 
within  the  last  two  days  been  warned  off  Beach  Path,  and 
that  a  padlock  and  other  obstacles  have  been  placed  on 
the  gate  leading  to  the  path,  by  her  Excellency's  orders. 
Lord  Lynborough  and  his  predecessors  have  enjoyed  the 
use  of  this  path  by  themselves,  their  agents  and  servants, 
for  many  years  back  —  certainly  for  fifty,  as  Lord  Lyn- 
borough knows  from  his  father  and  from  old  servants,  and 
Lord  Lynborough  is  not  disposed  to  acquiesce  in  any 
obstruction  being  raised  to  his  continued  use  of  it.  He 
must  therefore  request  her  Excellency  to  have  the  kindness 
to  order  that  the  padlock  and  other  obstacles  shall  be 
removed,  and  he  will  be  obliged  by  this  being  done  before 
eight  o'clock  to-morrow  morning  —  at  which  time  Lord 
Lynborough  intends  to  proceed  by  Beach  Path  to  the  sea 
in  order  to  bathe.     Scarsmoor  Castle;  13th  June. 

The  reception  of  this  letter  proved  an  agree- 

[52] 


The  Message  oj  a  Padlock 
able  incident  of  an  otherwise  rather  dull 
Sunday  evening  at  Nab  Grange.  The  Mar- 
chesa  had  been  bored;  the  Colonel  was 
sulky.  Miss  Gilletson  had  forbidden  cards; 
her  conscience  would  not  allow  herself,  nor 
her  feelings  of  envy  permit  other  people, 
to  play  on  the  Sabbath.  Lady  Norah  and 
Violet  Dufaure  were  somewhat  at  cross- 
purposes,  each  preferring  to  talk  to  Still- 
ford  and  endeavoring,  under  a  false  show 
of  amity,  to  foist  Captain  Irons  on  to  the 
other. 

"Listen  to  this!"  cried  the  Marchesa  vi- 
vaciously. She  read  it  out.  "  He  doesn't  beat 
about  the  bush,  does  he  ?  I'm  to  surrender 
before  eight  o'clock  to-morrow  morning!" 

"Sounds  rather  a  peremptory  sort  of  a 
chap!"  observed  Colonel  Wenman. 

"I,"  remarked  Lady  Norah,  "shouldn't 
so  much  as  answer  hira,  Helena." 

[«3] 


Helena* s  Path 

"I  shall  certainly  answer  him  and  tell 
him  that  he'll  trespass  on  my  property  at 
his  peril,"  said  the  Marchesa  haughtily. 
*' Isn't  that  the  right  way  to  put  it,  Mr. 
Stillford?" 

"If  it  would  be  a  trespass,  that  might  be 
one  way  to  put  it,"  was  Stillford's  proies- 
sionally  cautious  advice.  "But  as  I  ventured 
to  tell  you  when  you  determined  to  put  on 
the  padlock,  the  rights  in  the  matter  are  not 
quite  as  clear  as  we  could  wish." 

"When  I  bought  this  place,  I  bought  a 
private  estate  —  a  private  estate,  Mr.  Still- 
ford  —  for  myself  —  not  a  short  cut  for 
Lord  Lynborough!  Am  I  to  put  up  a 
notice  for  him,  '  This  Way  to  the  Bathing- 
Machines'  .?" 

"I  wouldn't  stand  it  for  a  moment." 
Captain  Irons  sounded  bellicose. 

Violet  Dufaure  was  amicably  inclined. 

[54] 


The  Message  of  a  Padlock 

"You  might  give  him  leave  to  walk 
through.  It  would  be  a  bore  for  him  to  go 
round  by  the  road  every  time." 

"Certainly  I  might  give  him  leave  if  he 
asked  for  it,"  retorted  the  Marchesa  rather 
sharply.  "But  he  doesn't.  He  orders  me  to 
open  my  gate  —  and  tells  me  he  means  to 
bathe!  As  if  I  cared  whether  he  bathed  or 
not!  What  is  it  to  me,  I  ask  you,  Violet, 
whether   the  man  bathes  or  not?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Marchesa,  but  aren't 
you  getting  a  little  off  the  point  ?'*  Stillford 
intervened  deferentially. 

"No,  I'm  not.  I  never  get  off  the  point, 
Mr.  Stillford.  Do  I,  Colonel  Wenman.?" 

"  I've  never  known  you  to  do  it  in  my  life, 
Marchesa."  There  was,  in  fact,  as  Lynbor- 
ough  had  ventured  to  anticipate,  a  flush  on 
the  Marchesa's  check,  and  the  Colonel 
knew  his   place. 

[55] 


Helena^ s  Path 

"There,  Mr.  Stillford!"  she  cried  trium- 
phantly. Then  she  swept  —  the  expression 
is  really  applicable  —  across  the  room  to  her 
writing-table.  "I  shall  be  courteous,  but 
quite  decisive,"  she  announced  over  her 
shoulder   as   she  sat  down. 

Stillford  stood  by  the  fire,  smiling  doubt- 
fully. Evidently  it  was  no  use  trying  to  stop 
the  Marchesa;  she  had  insisted  on  locking 
the  gate,  and  she  would  persist  in  keeping 
it  locked  till  she  was  forced,  by  process  of 
law  or  otherwise,  to  open  it  again.  But  if  the 
Lords  of  Scarsmoor  Castle  really  had  used 
it  without  interruption  for  fifty  years  (as 
Lord  Lynborough  asserted)  — well,  the  Mar- 
chesa's  rights  were  at  least  in  a  precarious 
position. 

The  Marchesa  came  back  with  her  lettei 
in  her  hand. 

" '  The  Marchesa di  San  Servolo,'  "she read 

[06] 


The  Message  of  a  Padlock 
out  to  an  admiring  audience,  "  *  presents 
her  compliments  to  Lord  Lynborough.  The 
Marchesa  has  no  intention  of  removing  the 
padlock  and  other  obstacles  which  have 
been  placed  on  the  gate  to  prevent  trespass- 
ing —  either  by  Lord  Lynborough  or  by 
anybody  else.  The  INIarchesa  is  not  con- 
cerned to  know  Lord  Lynborough's  plans  in 
regard  to  bathing  or  otherwise.  Nab  Grange ; 
13th  June.'  " 

;    The  Marchesa  looked  round  on  her  friends 
with  a  satisfied  air. 

"I  call  that  good,"  she  remarked.  "Don't 
you.  Nor  ah  .^" 

"I  don't  like  the  last  sentence." 

"Oh  yes!  Why,  that'll  make  him  an- 
grier than  anything  else!  Please  ring  the 
bell  for  me,  Mr.  Stillford;  it's  just  behind 
you." 

The  butler  came  back. 

[571 


Helena  s  Path 

"Who  brought  Lord  Lynborough's  let- 
ter?" asked  the  Marchesa. 

"I  don't  know  who  it  is,  your  Excellency 
• —  one  of  the  upper  servants  at  the  Castle, 
I  think.  ' 

"How  did  he  come  to  the  house  ?" 

"  By  the  drive  —  from  the  south  gate  —  I 
believe,  your  Excellency.'* 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  she  declared,  looking 
positively  dangerous.  "Tell  him  to  go  back 
the  same  way,  and  not  by  the  —  by  what 
Lord  Lynborough  chooses  to  call  *Beach 
Path.'  Here's  a  letter  for  him  to  take." 

"  Very  good,  your  Excellency. "  The  butler 
received  the  letter  and  withdrew. 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Norah,  "rather  funny 
he  should  call  it  Beach  Path,  isn't  it  ?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  it's  funny  or  not, 
Norah,  but  I  do  know  that  I  don't  care  what 
he  calls  it.  He  may  call  it  Piccadilly  if  he 

[58] 


The  Message  of  a  Padlock 
likes,  but  it's  my  path  all  the  same."  As  she 
spoke   she   looked,  somewhat   defiantly,  at 
Mr.  Stillford. 

Violet  Dufaure,  whose  delicate  frame  held 
an  indomitable  and  indeed  pugnacious  spirit, 
appealed  to  Stillford;  "Can't  Helena  have 
him  taken  up  if  he  trespasses  ?" 

"  Well,  hardly.  Miss  Dufaure.  The  remedy 
would  lie  in  the  civil  courts." 

"  Shall  I  brino;  an  action  ao;ainst  him  ?  Is 
that  it  ?  Is  that  right  ?'^  cried  the  Marchesa. 

"That's  the  ticket,  eh,  Stillford?"  asked 
the  Colonel. 

Stillford's  position  was  difficult;  he  had 
the  greatest  doubt  about  his  client's  case. 

"Suppose  you  leave  him  to  bring  the 
action  ?"  he  suggested.  "When  he  does,  we 
can  fully  consider  our  position." 

"But  if  he  insists  on  using  the  path  to- 
morrow?" 

[59] 


Hele7ias  Path 

"He'll  hardly  do  that,"  Stillford  per- 
suaded her.  "You'll  probably  get  a  letter 
from  him,  asking  for  the  name  of  your 
solicitor.  You  will  give  him  my  name;  I 
shall  obtain  the  name  of  his  solicitor,  and 
we  shall  settle  it  between  us  —  amicably,  I 
hope,  but  in  any  case  without  further  per- 
sonal trouble  to  you,  Marchesa." 

"  Oh ! "  said  the  Marchesa  blankly. "  That's 
how  it  will  be,  will  it  .^" 

"  That's  the  usual  course  —  the  proper 
way  of  doing  the  thing." 

"It  may  be  proper;  it  sounds  very  dull, 
Mr.  Stillford.  Wliat  if  he  does  try  to  use  the 
path  to-morrow  —  '  in  order  to  bathe'  as 
he's  good  enough  to  tell  me  ?" 

"If  you're  right  about  the  path,  then 
you've  the  right  to  stop  him,"  Stillford  an- 
swered rather  reluctantly.  "If  you  do  stop 
him,  that,  of  course,  raises  the  question  in  a 

[60] 


The  Message  of  a  Padlock 
concrete  form.  You  will  offer  a  formal  re- 
sistance.  He   will   make   a  formal   protest. 
Then  the  lawyers  step  in." 

"  We  always  end  with  the  lawyers  —  and 
my  lawyer  doesn't  seem  sure  I'm  right!" 

"Well,  I'm  not  sure,"  said  StiUford 
bluntly.  "It's  impossible  to  be  sure  at  this 
stage  of  the  case." 

"For  all  I  see,  he  may  use  my  path  to- 
morrow!" The  Marchesa  was  justifying 
her  boast  that  she  could  stick  to  a  point. 

"  Now  that  you've  lodged  your  objection, 
that  won't  matter  much  legally." 

"It  will  annoy  me  intensely,"  the  Mar- 
chesa complained. 

"Then  we'll  stop  him,"  declared  Colonel 
Wenman  valorously. 

"Politely  —  but  firmly,"  added  Captain 
Irons. 

"And  what  do  you  say,  Mr.  Stillford  .?" 

[61] 


Helena  s  Path 

"  I'll  go  with  these  fellows  anyhow  —  and 
see  that  they  don't  overstep  the  law.  No 
more  than  the  strictly  necessary  force.  Col- 
onel!" 

"I  begin  to  think  that  the  law  is  rather 
stupid,"  said  the  Marchesa.  She  thought  it 
stupid;  Lynborough  held  it  iniquitous;  the 
law  was  at  a  discount,  and  its  majesty  little 
reverenced,  that  night. 

Ultimately,  however,  Stillford  persuaded 
the  angry  lady  to  —  as  he  tactfully  put  it  — 
give  Lynborough  a  chance.  "See  what  he 
does  first.  If  he  crosses  the  path  now,  after 
warning,  your  case  is  clear.  Write  to  him 
again  then,  and  tell  him  that,  if  he  persists 
in  trespassing,  your  servants  have  orders  to 
interfere." 

"That  lets  him  bathe  to-morrow!"  Once 
more  the  Marchesa  returned  to  her  point  — • 
a  very  sore  one. 

[62] 


The  Message  of  a  Padlock 

"Just  for  once,  it  really  doesn't  matter!  '* 
Stillford  urged. 

Reluctantly  she  acquiesced;  the  others 
were  rather  relieved  —  not  because  they 
objected  to  a  fight,  but  because  eight  in  the 
morning  was  rather  early  to  start  one. 
Breakfast  at  the  Grange  was  at  nine-thirty, 
and,  though  the  men  generally  went  down 
for  a  dip,  they  went  much  later  than  Lord 
Lynborough  proposed  to  go. 

"He  shall  have  one  chance  of  with- 
drawing gracefully,"  the  Marchesa  finally 
decided. 

Stillford  was  unfeigncdly  glad  to  hear  her 
say  so;  he  had,  from  a  professional  point  of 
view,  no  desire  for  a  conflict.  Inquiries  which 
he  had  made  in  Fillby  —  both  from  men  in 
Scarsmoor  Castle  employ  and  from  inde- 
pendent persons  —  had  convinced  him  that 
Lynborough 's  case  was  strong.  For  many 

[63] 


Helena  s  Path 
years  —  through  the  time  of  two  Lyn- 
boroughs  before  the  present  at  Scarsmoor, 
and  through  the  time  of  three  Crosses  (the 
predecessors  of  the  Marchesa)  at  Nab 
Grange,  Scarsmoor  Castle  had  without 
doubt  asserted  this  dominant  right  over  Nab 
Grange.  It  had  been  claimed  and  exercised 
openly  —  and,  so  far  as  he  could  discover, 
without  protest  or  opposition.  The  period, 
as  he  reckoned  it,  would  prove  to  be  long 
enough  to  satisfy  the  law  as  to  prescription; 
it  was  very  unlikely  that  any  document 
existed  —  or  anyhow  could  be  found  — 
which  would  serve  to  explain  away  the  pre- 
sumption which  uses  such  as  this  gave.  In 
fine,  the  Marchesa's  legal  adviser  was  of 
opinion  that  in  a  legal  fight  the  Marchesa 
would  be  beaten.  His  own  hope  lay  in  com- 
promise ;  if  friendly  relations  could  be  estab- 
lished, there  would  be  a  chance  of  a  compro- 

[64] 


The  Message  of  a  Padlock 
mise.  He  was  sure  that  the  Marchesa  would 
readily  grant  as  a  favor  —  and  would  possibly 
give  in  return  for  a  nominal  payment  —  all 
that  Lynborough  asked.  That  would  be  the 
best  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  "Let  us  tem- 
porize, and  be  conciliatory, "  thought  the  man 
of  law. 

Alas,  neither  conciliation  nor  dilatoriness 
was  in  Lord  Lynborough's  line !  He  read  the 
Marchesa's  letter  with  appreciation  and 
pleasure.  He  admired  the  curtness  of  its 
intimation,  and  the  lofty  haughtiness  with 
which  the  writer  dismissed  the  subject  of  his 
bathing.  But  he  treated  the  document  — 
it  cannot  be  said  that  he  did  wrong  —  as  a 
plain  defiance.  It  appeared  to  him  that  no 
further  declaration  of  war  was  necessary ;  he 
was  not  concerned  to  consider  evidence  nor 
to  weigh  his  case,  as  Stillford  wanted  to 
consider   the  Marchesa's   evidence  and   to 

[65] 


Helena's  Path 
weigh  her  case.  This  for  two  reasons:  first, 
because  he  was  entirely  sure  that  he  was 
right;  secondly  because  he  had  no  intention 
of  bringing  the  question  to  trial.  Lynbor- 
ough  knew  but  one  tribunal ;  he  had  pointed 
out  its  local  habitation  to  Roger  Wilbraham. 

Accordingly  it  fell  out  that  conciliatory 
counsels  and  Fabian  tactics  at  Nab  Grange 
received  a  very  severe  —  perhaps  indeed  a 
fatal  —  shock  the  next  morning. 

At  about  nine  o'clock  the  Marchesa  was 
sitting  in  her  dressing-gown  by  the  open 
window,  reading  her  correspondence  and 
sipping  an  early  cup  of  tea  —  she  had  be- 
come quite  English  in  her  habits.  Her  maid 
reentered  the  room,  carrying  in  her  hand  a 
small  parcel.  "For  your  Excellency,'*  she 
said.  "A  man  has  just  left  it  at  the  door." 
She  put  the  parcel  down  on  the  marble  top 
of  the  dressing-table. 

[66] 


The  Message  of  a  Padlock 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  Marchesa  in- 
dolently. 

"  I  don't  know,  your  Excellency.  It's  hard, 
and  very  heavy  for  its  size." 

Laying  down  the  letter  which  she  had  been 
perusing,  the  Marchesa  took  up  the  parcel 
and  cut  the  string  which  bound  it.  With  a 
metallic  clink  there  fell  on  her  dressing-table 
—  a  padlock !  To  it  was  fastened  a  piece  of 
paper,  bearing  these  words:  "Padlock  found 
attached  to  gate  leading  to  Beach  Path. 
Detached  by  order  of  Lord  Lynborough. 
With  Lord  Lynboroiigh's  compliments." 

Now,  too,  Lynborough  might  have  got 
his  flush  —  if  he  could  have  been  there  to 
sec  it!' 

"Bring  me  my  field-glasses!"  she  cried. 

The  window  commanded  a  view  of  the 
gardens,  of  the  meadows  beyond  the  sunk 
fencC:,  of  the  path  —  Beach  Path  as  that  man 

[07] 


Helena's  Path 
was  pleased  to  call  it !  —  and  of  the  gate. 
At  the  last-named  object  the  enraged  Mar- 
chesa  directed  her  gaze.  The  barricade  of 
furze  branches  was  gone!  The  gate  hung 
open  upon  its  hinges ! 

While  she  still  looked,  three  figures  came 
across  the  lens.  A  very  large  stout  shape  — 
a  short  spare  form  —  a  tall,  lithe,  very  lean 
figure.  They  were  just  reaching  the  gate, 
coming  from  the  direction  of  the  sea.  The 
two  first  were  strangers  to  her;  the  third  she 
had  seen  for  a  moment  the  afternoon  before 
on  Sandy  Nab.  It  was  Lynborough  himself,' 
beyond  a  doubt.  The  others  must  be  friends 
—  she  cared  not  about  them.  But  to  sit  here 
with  the  padlock  before  her,  and  see  Lyn- 
borough pass  through  the  gate  —  a  meeker 
woman  than  she  had  surely  been  moved  to 
wrath !  He  had  bathed  —  as  he  had  said  he 
would.  And  he  had  sent  her  the  padlock. 

[68] 


The  Message  of  a  Padlock 
That  was  what  came  of  listening  to  con- 
ciliatory counsels,  of  letting  herself  give  ear 
to  dilatory  persuasions! 

*'War!"  declared  the  Marchesa.  "War 
—  war  —  war !  And  if  he's  not  careful,  I 
won't  confine  it  to  the  path  either!"  She 
seemed  to  dream  of  conquests,  perhaps  to 
reckon  resources,  whereof  Mr.  Stillford,  her 
legal  adviser,  had  taken  no  account. 

She  carried  the  padlock  down  to  breakfast 
with  her;  it  was  to  her  as  a  Fiery  Cross;  it 
summoned  her  and  her  array  to  battle.  She 
exhibited  it  to  her  guests. 

"Now,  gentlemen,  I'm  in  your  hands!" 
said  she.  "Is  that  man  to  walk  over  my 
property  for  his  miserable  bathing  to- 
morrow ?" 

He  would  have  been  a  bold  man  who, 

at  that  moment,  would  have  answered  her 

with  a  "Yes." 

[69] 


Cha]^jter  Five 

THE   BEGINNING   OF  WAR 

An  enviable  characteristic  of  Lord  Lyn- 
borough's  was  that,  when  he  had  laid  the 
fuse,  he  could  wait  patiently  for  the  explo- 
sion. (That  last  word  tends  to  recur  in  con- 
nection with  him.)  Provided  he  knew  that 
his  adventure  and  his  joke  were  coming, 
he  occupied  the  interval  profitably  —  which 
is  to  say,  as  agreeably  as  he  could.  Having 
launched  the  padlock  —  his  symbolical  ul- 
timatum —  and  asserted  his  right,  he  spent 
the  morning  in  dictating  to  Roger  Wilbraham 
a  full,  particular,  and  veracious  account  of 
his  early  differences  with  the  Dean  of  Christ 
Church.  Roger  found  his  task  entertaining, 

[70] 


The  Beginning  of  War 
for  Lynboroiigh's  mimicry  of  his  distinguish- 
ed opponent  was  excellent.  Stabb  meanwhile 
was  among  the  tombs  in  an  adjacent  apart- 
ment. 

This  studious  tranquillity  was  disturbed 
by  the  announcement  of  a  call  from  Mr. 
Stillford.  Not  without  difficulty  he  had  per- 
suaded the  Marchesa  to  let  him  reconnoiter 
the  ground  —  to  try,  if  it  seemed  desirable, 
the  effect  of  a  bit  of  "bluff"  —  at  any  rate 
to  discover,  if  he  could,  something  of  the 
enemy's  plan  of  campaign.  Stillford  was, 
in  truth,  not  a  little  afraid  of  a  lawsuit ! 

Lynborough  denied  himself  to  no  man, 
and  received  with  courtesy  every  man  who 
came.  But  his  face  grew  grim  and  his  man- 
ner distant  when  Stillford  discounted  the 
favorable  effect  produced  by  his  appear- 
ance and  manner  —  also  by  his  name,  well 
known  in  the  county  —  by  confessing  that 

[71] 


Helena  s  Path 
he  called  In  the  capacity  of  the  Marchesa's 
solicitor. 

"A  solicitor?"  said  Lynborough,  slightly 
raising  his  brows. 

"Yes.  The  Marchesa  does  me  the  honor 
to  place  her  confidence  in  me;  and  it  occurs 
to  me  that,  before  this  unfortunate  dispute 


j> 


"  "Wliy  unfortunate  ?"  interrupted  Lynbor- 
ough with  an  air  of  some  surprise. 

"  Surely  it  is  —  between  neighbors  ?  The 
Castle  and  the  Grange  should  be  friends." 
His  cunning  suggestion  elicited  no  response. 
"It  occurred  to  me,"  he  continued,  some- 
what less  glibly,  "that,  before  further  an- 
noyance or  expense  was  caused,  it  might  be 
well  if  I  talked  matters  over  with  your 
lordship's  solicitor." 

"Sir,"  said  Lynborough,  "saving  your 
presence  —  which,  I  must  beg  you  to  re- 

[72] 


The  Beginning  oj  War 
member,  was  not  invited  by  me  —  I  don't 
like  solicitors.  I  have  no  solicitor.  I  shall 
never  have  a  solicitor.  You  can't  talk  with  a 
non-existent  person." 

"  But  proceedings  are  the  natural  —  the 
almost  inevitable  —  result  of  such  a  situa- 
tion as  your  action  has  created,  Lord  Lyn- 
borough.  My  client  can't  be  flouted,  she 
can't  have  her  indubitable  rights  outraged 


"Do  you  think  they're  indubitable .'' " 
Lynborough  put  in,  with  a  sudden  quick 
flash  of  his  eyes. 

For  an  instant  Stillford  hesitated.  Then 
he  made  his  orthodox  reply.  *'  As  I  am  in- 
structed, they  certainly  are." 

"Ah!"  said  Lynborough  dryly. 

"No  professional  man  could  say  more 
than  that,  Lord  Lynborough." 

"And  they  all  say  just  as  much!  If  I  say 

[73] 


Helena's  Path 
anything  you   don't  like,   again  remember 
that   this  interview   is   not  of  my  seeking, 
Mr.  Stillford." 

Stillford  waxed  a  trifle  sarcastic.  "You'll 
conduct  your  case  in  person  ?"  he  asked. 

"If  you  hale  me  to  court,  I  shall.  Other- 
wise there's  no  question  of  a  case." 

This  time  Stillford's  eyes  brightened;  yet 
still  he  doubted  Lynborough's  meaning. 

"We  shouldn't  hesitate  to  take  our  case 
into  court." 

"Since  you're  wrong,  you'd  probably 
win,"  said  Lynborough,  with  a  smile.  "But 
I'd  make  it  cost  you  the  devil  of  a  lot  of 
money.  That,  at  least,  the  law  can  do  — 
I'm  not  aware  that  it  can  do  much  else. 
But  as  far  as  I'm  concerned,  I  should 
as  soon  appeal  to  the  Pope  of  Rome  in 
this  matter  as  to  a  law-court  —  sooner  in 
fact." 

[74] 


The  Beginnijig  of  War 

Stillford  grew  more  confidently  lia2)py  — - 
and  more  amazed  at  Lynborough. 

"But  you've  no  right  to  —  er  —  assert 
rights  if  you  don't  intend  to  support  them." 

"I  do  intend  to  support  them,  Mr.  Still- 
ford.  That  you'll  very  soon  find  out." 

"By  force?"  Stillford  himself  was  grati- 
fied by  the  shocked  solemnity  which  he 
achieved  in  this   question. 

"If  so,  your  side  has  no  prejudice  against 
legal  proceedings.  Prisons  are  not  strange 
to  me " 

"What?"  Stillford  was  a  little  startled. 
lie  had  not  heard  all  the  stories  about  Lord 
Lynborough. 

"I  say,  prisons  are  not  strange  to  me.  If 
necessary,  I  can  do  a  month.  I  am,  however, 
not  altogether  a  novice  in  the  somewhat 
dem'adine:  art  of  oettin*]^  the  other  man  to  hit 
first.  Then  he  goes  to  prison,  doesn't  he  ? 

[75] 


Helena^ s  Path 
Just  like  the  law!  As  if  that  had  anything 
to  do  with  the  merits!" 

Stillford  kept  his  eye  on  the  point  valuable 
to  him.  "  By  supporting  your  claim  I  intend- 
ed to  convey  supporting  it  by  legal  action." 

"Oh,  the  cunning  of  this  world,  the  cun- 
ning of  this  world,  Roger !"  He  flung  himself 
into  an  arm-chair,  laughing.  Stillford  was 
already  seated.  "Take  a  cigarette,  Mr. 
Stillford.  You  want  to  know  whether  I'm 
going  to  law  or  not,  don't  you  ?  Well,  I'm 
not.  Is  there  anything  else  you  want  to 
know  ?  Oh,  by  the  way,  we  don't  abstain 
from  the  law  because  we  don't  know  the  law. 
Permit  me  —  Mr.  Stillford,  solicitor  —  Mr. 
Roger  Wilbraham,  of  the  Middle  Temple, 
Esquire,  barrister-at-law.  Had  I  known 
you  were  coming,  Roger  should  have  worn 
his  wig.  No,  no,  we  know  the  law  —  but 
we  hate  it." 

[76] 


The  Beginning  of  War 

StilKord  was  jubilant  at  a  substantial 
gain  —  the  appeal  to  law  lay  within  the  Mar- 
chesa's  choice  now;  and  that  was  in  his 
view  a  great  advantage.  But  he  was  legiti- 
mately irritated  by  Lynborough's  sneers  at 
his  profession. 

"So  do  most  of  the  people  who  belong  to 
—  the  people  to  whom  prisons  are  not 
strange.  Lord  Lynborough. " 

"Apostles  —  and  so  on?"  asked  Lyn- 
borough airily. 

"I  hardly  recognize  your  lordship  as  be- 
longing   to    that  —  er  —  er  —  category. " 

"That's  the  worst  of  it  —  nobody  will," 
Lynborough  admitted  candidly.  A  note  of 
sincere,  if  whimsical,  regret  sounded  in  his 
voice.  "I've  been  trying  for  fifteen  years. 
Yet  some  day  I  may  be  known  as  St.  Am- 
brose!" His  tones  fell  to  despondency  again. 
"  St.  Ambrose  the  Less,  though  —  yes,  I'm 

[77] 


Helena^ s  Path 
afraid  the  Less.  Apostles  —  even  Saints  — ■ 
are  much  handicapped  in  these  days,  Mr. 
Stillford." 

Stillf ord  rose  to  his  feet.  "  You've  no  more 
to  say  to  me,  Lord  Lynborough  ?'* 

"I  don't  know  that  I  ever  had  anything 
to  say  to  you,  Mr.  Stillford.  You  must  have 
gathered  before  now  that  I  intend  to  use 
Beach  Path." 

"My  client  intends  to  prevent  you." 

"  Yes  ?  —  Well,  you're  three  able-bodied 
men  down  there  —  so  my  man  tells  me  — 
you,  and  the  Colonel,  and  the  Captain. 
And  we're  three  up  here.  It  seems  to  me  fair 
enough." 

"You  don't  really  contemplate  settling 
tlie  matter  by  personal  conflict  ?"  He  was 
half  amused,  yet  genuinely  stricken  in  his 
habits  of  thought. 

Entirely  a  question  for  your  side.  We 
[78] 


« 


The  Beginning  of  War 
shall  use  the  path."  Lynborough  cocked 
his  head  on  one  side,  looking  up  at  the  sturdy 
lawyer  with  a  mischievous  amusement.  "I 
shall  harry  you,  Mr.  Stillford  —  day  and 
night  I  shall  harry  you.  If  you  mean  to  keep 
me  off  that  path,  vigils  will  be  your  portion. 
And  you  won't  succeed. " 

"I  make  a  last  appeal  to  your  lord- 
ship. The  matter  could,  I  believe,  be  ad- 
justed on  an  amicable  basis.  The  Marchesa 
could   be  prevailed  upon  to  grant  permis- 


sion 


"I'd  just  as  soon  ask  her  permission  to 
breathe,"    interrupted    Lynborough. 

"Then  my  mission  is  at  an  end." 

"I  congratulate  you." 

"I  beg  your  pardon  .^" 

"Well,  you've  found  out  the  chief  thing 
you  wanted  to  know,  haven't  you  ?  If  you'd 
asked  it  point-blank,  we  should  have  saved 


Helena  s  Path 
a  lot  of  time.  Good-by,  Mr.  Stlllford.  Roger, 
the  bell's  in  reach  of  your  hand." 

"You're  pleased  to  be  amused  at  my 
expense.'^"  Stillford  had  grown  huffy. 

"  No  —  only  don't  think  you've  been 
clever  at  mine,"  Lynborough  retorted 
placidly. 

So  they  parted.  Lynborough  went  back 
to  his  Dean,  Stillford  to  the  Marchesa. 
Still  ruffled  in  his  plumes,  feeling  that  he 
had  been  chaffed  and  had  made  no  adequate 
reply,  yet  still  happy  in  the  solid,  the  im- 
portant fact  which  he  had  ascertained,  he 
made  his  report  to  his  client.  He  refrained 
from  openly  congratulating  her  on  not  being 
challenged  to  a  legal  fight;  he  contented 
himself  with  observing  that  it  was  con- 
venient to  be  able  to  choose  her  own  time 
to  take  proceedings. 

Lady  Norali  was  w  ith  the  Marchesa.  They 

[80] 


The  Beginning  of  War 
both  listened  attentively  and  questioned 
closely.  Not  the  substantial  points  alone  at- 
tracted their  interest ;  Stillf ord  was  constantly 
asked  —  "How  did  he  look  when  he  said 
that?"  He  had  no  other  answer  than  "Oh 
■ —  well  —  er  —  rather  queer."  He  left  them, 
having  received  directions  to  rebarricade  the 
gate  as  solidly  and  as  offensively  as  possible ; 
a  board  warning  off  trespassers  was  also 
to  be  erected. 

Although  not  apt  at  a  description  of  his 
interlocutor,  yet  Stillford  seemed  to  have 
conveyed    an    impression. 

"I  think  he  must  be  delightful,"  said 
Norali  thoughtfully,  when  the  two  ladies 
were  left  together.  "I'm  sure  he's  just  the 
sort  of  a  man  I  should  fall  in  love  with, 
Helena." 

As  a  rule  the  Marchesa  admired  and  ap- 
plauded  Norah's  candor,  praising  it  for  a 

[81] 


Helena  s  Path 
certain  patrician  flavor  —  Norah  spoke  her 
mind,  let  the  crowd  think  what  it  would! 
On  this  occasion  she  was  somehow  less 
pleased;  she  was  even  a  little  startled.  She 
was  conscious  that  any  man  with  whom 
Norah  was  gracious  enough  to  fall  in  love 
would  be  subjected  to  no  ordinary  assault; 
the  Irish  coloring  is  bad  to  beat,  and  Norah 
had  it  to  perfection ;  moreover,  the  aforesaid 
candor  makes  matters  move  ahead. 

"After  all,  it's  my  path  he's  trespassing  on, 
Norah,"   the  Marchesa  remonstrated. 

They  both  began  to  laugh.  "The  wretch 
is  as  handsome  as  —  as  a  god,"  sighed 
Helena. 

"You've  seen  him.^"  eagerly  questioned 
Norah ;  and  the  glimpse  —  that  tantalizing 
glimpse  —  on  Sandy  Nab  was  confessed  to. 

The  Marchesa  sprang  up,  clenching  her 
fist.  "  Norah,  I  should  like  to  have  that  man 

[82] 


The  Beginning  of  War 
at  my  feet,  and  then  to  trample  on  him! 
Oh,  it's  not  only  the  path!  I  beUeve  he's 
hiughing  at  me  all  the  time!" 

"He's  never  seen  you.  Perhaps  if  he 
did  he  wouldn't  laugh.  And  perhaps  you 
wouldn't  trample  oil  him  either." 

"Ahj  but  I  would!"  She  tossed  her  head 
impatiently.  "Well,  if  you  want  to  meet 
him,  I  expect  }  ou  can  do  it  —  on  my  path 
tx)-morrow!" 

This  talk  left  the  Marches  a  vaguely 
vexed.  Her  feeling  could  not  be  called  jeal- 
ousy; nothing  can  hardly  be  jealous  of 
nothing,  and  even  as  her  acquaintance  with 
Lynborough  amounted  to  nothing.  Lady 
Norah's  also  was  represented  by  a  cipher. 
But  why  should  Norali  want  to  know  him  ? 
It  was  tlie  Marchesa's  path  —  by  conse- 
quence it  was  the  Marchesa's  quarrel. 
Wliere  did  Norah  stand  in  the  matter  ?  The 


Helena  s  Path 
Marchesa  had   perhaps   been   constructing 
a  little  drama.  Norah  took  leave  to  introduce 
a  new  character ! 

And  not  Norah  alone,  as  it  appeared  at 
dinner.  Little  Violet  Dufaure,  whose  ap- 
pealing ways  were  notoriously  successful 
with  the  emotionally  weaker  sex^,  took  her 
seat  at  table  with  a  demurely  triumphant  air. 
Captain  Irons  reproached  her,  with  polite 
gallantry,  for  having  deserted  the  croquet 
lawn  after  tea. 

"  Oh,  I  went  for  a  walk  to  Fillby  —  through 
Scarsmoor,  you  know. " 

"Through  Scarsmoor,  Violet  .p"  The  Mar- 
chesa sounded  rather  startled  again. 

*'  It's  a  pubUc  road,  you  know,  Helena. 
Isn't  it,  Mr.   Stillford.?" 

Stillford  admitted  that  it  was.  "All  the 
same,  perhaps  the  less  we  go  there  at  the 

present  moment " 

[84] 


The  Beginning  of  War 

"Oh,  but  Lord  Lynborough  asked  me  to 
come  again  and  to  go  wherever  I  Hked  — 
not  to  keep  to  the  stupid  road." 

Absolute  silence  reigned.  Violet  looked 
round  with  a  smile  which  conveyed  a  general 
appeal  for  sympathy;  there  was,  perhaps, 
special  reference  to  Miss  Gilletson  as  the 
guardian  of  propriety,  and  to  the  Marchesa 
as  the  owner  of  the  disputed  path. 

"You  see,  I  took  Nellie,  and  the  dear  al- 
ways does  run  away.  She  ran  after  a  rabbit. 
I  ran  after  her,  of  course.  The  rabbit  ran 
into  a  hole,  and  I  ran  into  Lord  Lynborough. 
Helena,  he's  charming !" 

"I'm  thoroughly  tired  of  Lord  Lynbor- 
ough," said  the  Marchesa  icily. 

"  He  must  have  known  I  was  staying  with 
you,  I  think;  but  he  never  so  much  as  men- 
tioned you.  He  just  ignored  you  —  the 
whole  thing,  I  mean.  Wasn't  it  tactful?'* 

[85] 


Helena's  Path 

Tactful  it  might  Lave  been ;  it  did  not  ap- 
pear to  gratify  the  Marchesa. 

"What  a  wonderful  air  there  is  about  a 
—  a  grand  seigneio!^*  pursued  Violet  re- 
flectively. "Such  a  difference  it  makes !'^ 

That  remark  did  not  gratify  any  of  the 
gentlemen  present;  it  implied  a  contrast, 
although  it  might  not  definitely  assert  one. 

"It  is  such  a  pity  that  you've  quarreled 
about  that  silly  path!'* 

"Oh!  oh!  Miss  Dufaure!"  — "I  say, 
come.  Miss  Dufaure ! "  —  "  Er  —  really. 
Miss  Dufaure!"  —  these  three  remonstran- 
ces may  be  distributed  indifferently  among 
the  three  men.  They  felt  that  there  was  a  risk 
of  treason  in  the  camp. 

The  Marchesa  assumed  her  grandest  man- 
ner ;  it  was  medieval  —  it  was  Titianesque. 

"  Fortunately,  as  it  seems,  Violet,  I  do  not 
rely  on  your  help  to  maintain  my  fights  in 

[86] 


The  Beginning  of  War 
regard  to  the  path.  Pray  meet  Lord  Lyn- 
borough  as  often  as  you  please,  but  spare  me 
any  unnecessary  mention  of  his  name." 

"I  didn't  mean  any  harm.  It  was  all 
Nellie's  fault." 

i  The  Marchesa's  reply  —  if  such  it  can  be 
called  —  was  delivered  sotto  voce,  yet  was 
distinctly  audible.  It  was  also  brief.  She 
said  '' Nellie r'  Nellie  was,  of  course,  Miss 
Dufaure's   dog. 

Night  fell  upon  an  apparently  peaceful 
land.  Yet  Violet  was  an  absentee  from  the 
Marchesa's  dressing-room  that  night,  and 
even  between  Norali  and  her  hostess  the 
conversation  showed  a  tendency  to  flag. 
Norah,  for  all  her  courage,  dared  not  men- 
tion the  name  of  Ivynborough,  and  Helena 
most  plainly  would  not.  Yet  what  else  was 
there  to  talk  about  ?  It  had  come  to  that 
point  even  so  early  in  the  war! 

[S7] 


Helena^ s  Path 

Meanwhile,  up  at  Scarsmoor  Castle,  Lyn- 
borough,  in  exceedingly  high  spirits,  talked 
to  Leonard  Stabb. 

"Yes,  Cromlech,"  he  said,  "a  pretty 
girl,  a  very  pretty  girl  if  you  Uke  that  'petite 
insinuating  style.  For  myself  I  prefer  some- 
thing a  shade  more  —  what  shall  we  call 
it?" 

"Don't  care  a  hang,"  muttered  Stabb. 

"A  trifle  more  in  the  grand  manner, 
perhaps,  Cromlech.  And  she  hadn't  anything 
like  the  complexion.  I  knew  at  once  that  it 
couldn't  be  the  Marchesa.  Do  you  bathe  to- 
morrow morning  ? 

"And  get  my  head  broken  .^" 

"Just  stand  still,  and  let  them  throw 
themselves  against  you.  Cromlech.  Roger! 

—  Oh,  he's  gone  to  bed ;  stupid  thing  to  do 

—  that !  Cromlech,  old  chap,  I'm  enjoying 
myself  immensely." 

[88] 


The  Beginning  of  War 

He  Just  touched  his  old  friend's  shoulder 
as  he  passed  by:  the  caress  was  almost  im- 
perceptible. Stabb  turned  his  broad  red 
face  round  to  him  and  laughed  ponderously. 

"Oh,  and  you  understand!"  cried  Lyn- 
borough. 

"I  have  never  myself  objected  to  a  bit  of 
fun  with  the  girls,"  said  Stabb. 

Lynborough  sank  into  a  chair  murmuring 
delightedly,  "You're  priceless,  Cromlech!" 


[891 


Chapter  Six 

EXERCISE   BEFORE   BREAKFAST 


"Life — "  (The  extract  is  from  Lynbor- 
ougli's  diary,  dated  this  same  14th  of  June) 
—  "may  be  considered  as  a  process  (Crom- 
lech's view,  conducting  to  the  tomb)  —  a 
program  (as,  I  am  persuaded,  Roger  con- 
ceives it,  marking  off  each  stage  thereof 
with  a  duly  guaranteed  stamp  of  perfor- 
mance) —  or  as  a  progress  —  in  which  light 
I  myself  prefer  to  envisage  it.  Process  — 
program  —  progress;  the  words,  with  my 
above-avowed  preference,  sound  unimpeach- 
ably  orthodox.  Once  I  had  a  Bishop  ancestor. 
He  crops  out. 

*'Yet  I  don't  mean  what  he  does.  I  don't 

[90] 


Exercise  Before  Breakfast 
believe  In  growing  better  in  the  common 
sense  —  that  is,  in  an  increasing  power  to 
resist  what  tempts  you,  to  refrain  from  doing 
what  you  want.  That  ideal  seems  to  me, 
more  and  more,  to  start  from  the  WTong  end. 
No  man  refrains  from  doing  what  he  wants 
to  do.  In  the  end  the  contradiction  —  the 
illogicality  —  is  complete.  You  learn  to 
want  more  wisely  —  that's  all.  Train  desire, 
for  you  can  never  chain  it. 

"I'm  en^ao'cd  here  and  now  on  what  is 
to  all  appearance  the  most  trivial  of  busi- 
nesses. I  play  the  spiteful  boy  —  she  is  an 
obstinate  peevish  girl.  There  are  other  girls 
too  —  one  an  insinuating  tiny  minx,  w^ho 
would  wheedle  a  backward  glance  out  of 
Simon  Stylites  as  he  remounted  his  pillar  — 
and,  hj  the  sun  in  heaven,  will  get  little 
more  from  this  child  of  Mother  Earth! 
There's    another,    I    hear  —  Irish!  —  And 

[91] 


Helena's  Path 
Irish  is  near  my  heart.  But  behind  her  —  set 
in  the  uncertain  radiance  of  my  imagination 
■ —  hes  her  Excellency.  Heaven  knows  why ! 
Save  that  it  is  gloriously  paradoxical  to  meet 
a  foreign  Excellency  in  this  spot,  and  to  get 
to  most  justifiable,  most  delightful,  logger- 
heads with  her  immediately.  I  have  con- 
ceived Machiavellian  devices.  I  will  lure 
away  her  friends.  I  will  isolate  her,  humiliate 
her,  beat  her  in  the  fight.  There  may  be 
some  black  eyes  —  some  bruised  hearts  — ■ 
but  I  shall  do  it.  Why  ?  I  have  always  been 
gentle  before.  But  so  I  feel  toward  her. 
And  therefore  I  am  afraid.  This  is  the 
f oeman  for  my  steel,  I  think  —  I  have 
my  doubts  but  that  she'll  beat  me  in  the 
end. 

*'  When  I  talk  like  this.  Cromlech  chuckles, 
loves  me  as  a  show,  despises  me  as  a  mind. 
Roger  —  young  Roger  Fitz- Archdeacon  — 

[92] 


Exercise  Before  Breakfast 
is  all  an  incredulous  amazement.  I  don't 
wonder.  There  is  nothing  so  small  and 
nothing  so  great  —  nothing  so  primitive 
and  not  a  thing  so  complex  —  nothing  so  un- 
important and  so  engrossing  as  this  *duel 
of  the  sexes.'  A  proves  it  a  trifle,  and  is  held 
great.  B  reckons  it  all-supreme,  and  becomes 
popular.  C  (a  woman)  describes  the  Hunter 
Man.  D  (a  man)  descants  of  the  Pursuit  by 
Woman.  The  oldest  thing  is  the  most  can- 
vassed and  the  least  comprehended.  But 
there's  a  reputation  —  and  I  suppose  money 

—  in  it  for  anybody  who  can  string  phrases. 
There's  blood-red  excitement  for  every- 
body who  can  feel.  Yet  I've  played  my  part 
in  other  affairs  —  not  so  much  in  dull  old 
England,  where  you  work  five  years  to  be- 
come a  INIember  of  Parliament,  and  five 
years  more  in  order  to  get  kicked  out  again 

—  but  in  places  where  in  a  night  you  rise  or 

[93] 


Helena  s  Path 
fall  —  in  five  minutes  order  the  shooting- 
squad  or  face  it  —  boil  the  cook  or  are  stuffed 
into  the  pot  yourself.  (Cromlech,  this  is  not 
exact  scientific  statement !)  Yet  always  — 
everywhere  —  the  woman !  And  why  ?  On 
my  honor,  I  don't  knov/.  What  in  the  end 
is  she  ? 

"I  adjourn  the  question  —  and  put  a 
broader  one.  "VMiat  am  I  ?  The  human  being 
as  such  ?  If  I'm  a  vegetable,  am  I  not  a  mis- 
take ?  If  I'm  an  animal,  am  I  not  a  cruelty  ? 
If  I'm  a  soul,  am  I  not  misplaced  ?  I'd  say 
*Yes'  to  all  this,  save  that  I  enjoy  myself  so 
much.  Because  I  have  forty  thousand  a 
year  ?  Hardly.  I've  had  nothing,  and  been  as 
completely  out  of  reach  of  getting  anything 
as  the  veriest  pauper  that  ever  existed — ' 
and  yet  I've  had  the  deuce  of  a  fine  existence 
the  while.  I  think  there's  only  one  solid 
blunder     been     made     about     man  —  he 

[94] 


Exercise  Before  Breakfast 
oughtn't  to  have  been  able  to  think.  It  wastes 
time.  It  makes  many  people  unhappy.  That's 
not  my  case.  I  like  it.  It  just  wastes  time. 

"That  insinuating  minx,  possessed  of  a 
convenient  dog  and  an  ingratiating  manner, 
insinuated  to-day  that  I  w^as  handsome. 
Well,  she's  pretty,  and  I  suppose  we're  both 
better  off  for  it.  It  is  an  introduction.  But 
to  myself  I  don't  seem  very  handsome.  I 
have  my  pride  —  I  look  a  gentleman.  But 
I  look  a  queer  foreign  fish.  I  found  myself 
envying  the  British  robustness  of  that  fine 
young  chap  who  is  so  misguided  as  to  be  a 
lawyer. 

"Ah,  why  do  I  object  to  lawyers.?  Tol- 
stoi !  —  I  used  to  say  —  or,  at  the  risk  of 
advanced  intellects  not  recognizing  one's 
allusions,  one  could  go  further  back.  But 
that  is,  in  the  end,  all  gammon.  Every  real 
conviction  springs  from  personal  experience. 


Helena'' s  Path 
I  hate  the  law  because  it  interfered  with  mtt. 
I'm  not  aware  of  any  better  reason.  So  I'm 
going  on  without  it  —  unless  somebody  tries 
to  steal  my  forty  thousand,  of  course  Am- 
brose, thou  art  a  humbug  —  or,  more  pre- 
cisely, thou  canst  not  avoid  being  a  human 
individual!" 

Lord  Lynborough  completed  the  entry 
in  his  diary  —  he  was  tolerably  well  aware 
that  he  might  just  as  well  not  have  written 
it  —  and  cast  his  eyes  toward  the  window 
of  the  library.  The  stars  were  bright;  a 
crescent  moon  decorated,  without  illuminat- 
ing, the  sky.  The  regular  recurrent  beat  of 
the  sea  on  the  shore,  traversing  the  interval 
in  night's  silence,  struck  on  his  ear.  "If 
God  knew  Time,  that  might  be  His  clock," 
said  he.  "  Listen  to  its  inexorable,  peaceable, 
gentle,  formidable  stroke!" 

His  sleep  that  night  was  short  and  broken. 

[96] 


Exercise  Before  Breakfast 
A  fitful  excitement  was  on  his  spirit:  the 
glory  of  the  summer  morning  wooed  his 
restlessness.  He  would  take  his  swim  alone, 
and  early.  At  six  o'clock  he  slipped  out  of 
the  house  and  made  for  Beach  Path.  The 
fortified  gate  was  too  strong  for  his  unaided 
efforts.  Roger  Wilbraham  had  told  him 
that,  if  the  way  were  impeded,  he  had  a 
right  to  "deviate."  He  deviated  now,  lightly 
vaulting  over  the  four-foot-high  stone  wall. 
None  was  there  to  hinder  him,  and,  with 
emotions  appropriate  to  the  occasion,  he 
passed  Nab  Grange  and  gained  the  beach. 
\Vlien  once  he  was  in  the  water,  the  emotions 
went  away. 

They  were  to  return  —  or,  at  any  rate,  to 
be  succeeded  by  their  brethren.  After  he  had 
dressed,  he  sat  down  and  smoked  a  cigarette 
as  he  regarded  the  smiling  sea.  This  situa- 
tion was  so  agreeable  that  he  prolonged  it  for 

[97] 


Helena  s  Path 
full  half-an-hour ;  then  a  sudden  longing  for 
Coltson's  coffee  came  over  him.  He  jumped 
up  briskly  and  made  for  the  Grange  gate. 

He  had  left  it  open  —  it  was  shut  now. 
None  had  been  nigh  when  he  passed  through. 
Now  a  young  woman  in  a  white  frock  leant 
her  elbows  comfortably  on  its  top  rail  and 
rested  her  pretty  chin  upon  her  hands. 
Lady  Norah's  blue  eyes  looked  at  him 
serenely  from  beneath  black  lashes  of 
noticeable  length  —  at  any  rate  Lynborough 
noticed  their  length. 

Lynborough  walked  up  to  the  gate.  With 
one  hand  he  removed  his  hat,  with  the  other 
he  laid  a  tentative  hand  on  the  latch.  Norah 
did  not  move  or  even  smile. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,"  said  Lyn- 
borough, "  but  if  it  does  not  incommode  you, 
would  you  have  the  great  kindness  to  per- 
mit me  to  open  the  gate  ?" 

[98] 


Exercise  Before  Breakfast 

*'Oh,  I'm  sorry;  but  this  is  a  private  path 
leading  to  Nab  Grange.  I  suppose  you're  a 
stranger  in  these  parts  ?" 

"  My  name  is  Lynborough.  I  Hve  at  Scars- 
moor  there." 

"Are  you  Lord  Lynborough?"  Norah 
sounded  exceedingly  interested.  "  llie  Lord 
Lynborough  ?'* 

''There's  only  one,  so  far  as  I'm  aware," 
the  owner  of  the  title  answered. 

"  I  mean  the  one  who  has  done  all  those  — ■ 
those  —  well,  those  funny  things  ?" 

"  I  rejoice  if  the  recital  of  them  has  caused 
you  any  amusement.  And  now,  if  you  will 
permit  me " 

*'Oh,  but  I  can't!  Helena  would  never 
forgive  me.  I'm  a  friend  of  hers,  you  know 
—  of  the  Marchesa  di  San  Servolo.  Really 
you  can't  come  through  here." 

*'Do  you  think  you  can  stop  me  ?' 

[99] 


Helena's  Path 

"There  isn't  room  for  you  to  get  over  as 
lone:  as  I  stand  here  —  and  the  wall's  too 
high  to  climb,  isn't  it  ?" 

Lynborough  studied  the  wall ;  it  was  twice 
the  height  of  the  wall  on  the  other  side;  it 
might  be  possible  to  scale,  but  difficult  and 
laborious ;  nor  would  he  look  imposing  while 
struggling  at  the  feat. 

"You'll  have  to  go  round  by  the  road," 
remarked  Norah,  breaking  into  a  smile. 

Lynborough  was  enjoying  the  conversa- 
tion just  as  much  as  she  was  —  but  he  want- 
ed two  things;  one  was  victory,  the  other 
coffee. 

"  Can't  I  persuade  you  to  move  .?"  he  said 
imploringly.  "I  really  don't  want  to  have  to 


resort  to  more  startling  measures. 


5> 


"You  surely  wouldn't  use  force  against 
a  girl,   Lord   Lynborough!" 

"  I  said  startling  measures  —  not  violent 

[100] 


Exercise  Before  Breakfast 
ones,"  he  reminded  her.  "Are  your  nerves 
good  ?" 

"Excellent,  thank  you." 
"You  mean  to  stand  where  you  are.?" 
"Yes  —  till  you've  gone  away."  Now  she 
laughed    openly    at   him.    Lynljorough    de- 
lighted in  the  merry  sound  and  the  flash  of 
her  white  teeth. 

"It's  a  splendid  morning,  isn't  it.^"  he 
asked.  "I  should  think  you  stand  about  five 
feet  five,  don't  you  ?  By  the  way,  whom  have 
I  the  pleasure  of  conversing  with  ?" 
"My  name  is  Norah  Mountliffey. " 
"Ah,  I  knew  your  father  very  well."  He 
drew  back  a  few  steps.  "  So  you  must  excuse 
an  old  family  friend  for  telling  you  that  you 
make  a  charming  picture  at  that  gate.  If  I 
had  a  camera  —  Just  as  you  are,  please!" 
lie  held  up  his  hand,  as  though  to  pose  her. 
"Am  I  quite  right  ?"  she  asked,  humoring 

[101] 


Helena  s  Path 
the  joke,  with  her  merry  mischievous  eyes 
set  on  Lynborough's  face  as  she  leaned  over 
the  top  of  the  gate. 

*'  Quite  right.  Now,  please !  Don't  move !" 

"Oh,  I've  no  intention  of  moving," 
laughed    Norah    mockingly. 

She  kept  her  word;  perhaps  she  was  too 
surprised  to  do  anything  else.  For  Lynbor- 
ough,  clapping  his  hat  on  firmly,  with  a  dart 
and  a  spring  flew  over  her  head. 

Then  she  wheeled  round  —  to  see  him 
standing  two  yards  from  her,  his  hat  in  his 
hand   again,   bowing   apologetically. 

"  Forgive  me  for  getting  between  you  and 
the  sunshine  for  a  moment,"  he  said.  "But 
I  thought  I  could  still  do  five  feet  five;  and 
you  weren't  standing  upright  either.  I've 
done  within  an  inch  of  six  feet,  you  know. 
And  now  I'm  afraid  I  must  reluctantly  ask 
you  to  excuse  me.  I  thank  you  for  the  plea- 

[102] 


Exercise  Before  Breakfast 
sure  of  this  conversation."  He  bowed,  put  on 
his  hat,  turned,  and  began  to  walk  away 
along   Beach  Path. 

"You  o^ot  the  better  of  me  that  time,  but 
you've  not  done  with  me  yet,"  she  cried, 
starting  after  him. 

He  turned  and  looked  over  his  shoulder: 
save  for  his  eyes  his  face  was  quite  grave. 
He  quickened  his  pace  to  a  very  rapid  walk. 
Norah  found  that  she  must  run,  or  fall 
behind.  She  began  to  run.  Again  that  gravely 
derisory  face  turned  upon  her.  She  blushed, 
and  fell  suddenly  to  wondering  whether  in 
running  she  looked  absurd.  She  fell  to  a 
walk.  Lynborough  seemed  to  know.  Without 
looking  round  again,  he  abated  his  pace. 

"Oh,  I  can't  catch  you  if  you  won't 
stop!"    she    cried. 

"  My  friend  and  secretary,  Roger  Wilbra- 
ham,  tells  me  that  I  have  no  right  to  stop," 

[103] 


Helena  s  Path 
Lynborough  explained,  looking  round  again, 
but  not  standing  still.  "  I  have  only  the  right 
to  pass  and  repass.  I'm  repassing  now.  He's 
a  barrister,  and  he  says  that's  the  law.  I 
daresay  it  is  —  but  I  regret  that  it  prevents 
me  from  obliging  you.  Lady  Norah. " 

"Well,  I'm  not  going  to  make  a  fool  of 
myself  by  running  after  you,"  said  Norah 
crossly. 

Lynborough  walked  slowly  on;  Norah 
followed;  they  reached  the  turn  of  the  path 
towards  the  Grange  hall  door.  They  reached 
it  —  and  passed  it  —  both  of  them.  Lyn- 
borough turned  once  more  —  with  a  sur- 
prised lift  of  his  brows. 

"At  least  I  can  see  you  safe  off  the  pre- 
mises!" laughed  Norah,  and  with  a  quick 
dart  forward  she  reduced  the  distance  be- 
tween them  to  half-a-yard.  Lynborough 
seemed    to    have    no    objection;   proximity 

[104] 


Exercise  Before  Breakfast 
made  conversation  easier;  he  moved  slowly 
on. 

Norali  seemed  defeated  —  but  suddenly 
she  saw  her  chance,  and  hailed  it  with  a  cry. 
The  Marchesa's  bailift'  —  John  Goodenough 
—  was  approaching  the  path  from  the  house 
situated  at  the  southwest  corner  of  the 
meadow.  Her  cry  of  his  name  caught  his 
attention  —  as  w^ell  as  Lynborough's.  The 
latter  walked  a  little  quicker.  John  Good- 
enough  hurried  up.  Lynborough  walked 
steadily  on. 

"Stop  him,  John!"  cried  Norah,  her  eyes 
sparkling  with  new  excitement.  "You  know 
her  Excellency's  orders  ?  This  is  Lord  Lyn- 
borough!" 

"  His  lordship !  Aye,  it  is.  I  beg  your  par- 
don, my  lord,  but  —  I'm  very  sorry  to  in- 
terfere with  your  lordship,  but " 

"You're  in  my  way,  Goodenough."  For 

[105] 


Helena's  Path 
John  had  got  across  his  path,  and  barred 
progress.  "Of  course  I  must  stand  still  if 
you  impede  my  steps,  but  I  do  it  under 
protest.  I  only  want  to  repass." 

"You  can't  come  this  way,  my  lord.  I'm 
sorry,  but  it's  her  Excellency's  strict  orders. 
You  must  go  back,  my  lord. " 

"  I  am  going  back  —  or  I  was  till  you 
stopped  me." 

"  Back  to  where  you  came  from,  my  lord. " 

"I  came  from  Scarsmoor  and  I'm  going 

back  there,  Goodenough." 

"Where  you  came  from  last,  my  lord." 
"No,  no,  Goodenough.  At  all  events,  her 

Excellency  has  no  right  to  drive  me  into  the 

sea."    Lynborough's    tone    was    plaintively 

expostulatory. 

"Then  if  you  won't  go  back,  my  lord, 

here  we  stay!"  said  John,  bewildered  but 

faithfully  obstinate. 

[106] 


Exercise  Before  Breakjast 

**  Just  your  tactics ! "  Lynborough  observed 

to  Norah,  akeen  spectator  of  the  scene.  "But 

I'm  not  so  patient  of  them  from  Goodenough." 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  were  very  patient 

with  me." 

*' Goodenough,  if  you  use  sufficient  force 
I  shall,  of  course,  be  prevented  from  con- 
tinuing on  my  way.  Nothing  short  of  that, 
however,  will  stop  me.  And  pray  take  care 
that  the  force  is  sufficient  —  neither  more 
nor  less  than  sufficient,  Goodenough." 

"I  don't  want  to  use  no  violence  to  your 
lordship.  Well  now,  if  I  lay  my  hand  on 
your  lordship's  shoulder,  will  that  do  to 
satisfy    your    lordship?" 

"I  don't  know  until  you  try  it. " 
John's  face  brightened.  "I  reckon  that's 
the  way  out.  I  reckon  that's  law,  my  lord. 
I  puts  my  hand  on  your  lordship's  shoulder 

like  that " 

[107] 


Helena  s  Path 

He  suited  the  action  to  the  word.  In  an 
instant  Lynborough's  long  Hthe  arms  were 
round  him,  Lynborough's  supple  lean  leg 
twisted  about  his.  Gently,  as  though  he  had 
been  a  little  baby,  Lynborough  laid  the 
sturdy  fellow  on  the  grass. 

For  all  she  could  do,  Norah  Mountliffey 
cried  "Bravo!"  and  clapped  her  hands. 
Goodenough  sat  up,  scratched  his  head,  and 
laughed  feebly. 

"  Force  not  quite  suflScient,  Goodenough," 
cried  Lynborough  gaily.  "Now  I  repass!" 

He  lifted  his  hat  to  Norah,  then  waved 
his  hand.  In  her  open  impulsive  way  she 
kissed  hers  back  to  him  as  he  turned  away. 

By  one  of  those  accidents  peculiar  to 
tragedy,  the  Marchesa's  maid,  performing 
her  toilet  at  an  upper  window,  saw  this 
nefarious  and  traitorous  deed! 

*'  Swimming  —  jumping  —  wrestling !     A 

[108] 


Exercise  Before  Breakfast 
good   morning's   exercise!   And   all   before 
those  lazy  chaps,  Roger  and  Cromlech,  are 
out  of  bed!" 

So  saying,  Lord  Lynborough  vaulted  the 
wall  again  in  high  good  humor. 


[109] 


Chapter  Seven 

ANOTHER  wedge! 

Deprived  of  their  leader's  inspiration,  the 
other  two  representatives  of  Scarsmoor  did 
not  brave  the  Passage  Perilous  to  the  sea 
that  morning.  Lynborough  was  well  content 
to  forego  further  aggression  for  the  moment. 
His  words  declared  his  satisfaction 

"  I  have  driven  a  wedge  —  another  wedge 
—  into  the  Marchesa's  phalanx.  Yes,  I 
think  I  may  say  a  second  wedge.  Disaffection 
has  made  its  entry  into  Nab  Grange,  Crom- 
lech. The  process  of  isolation  has  begun. 
Perhaps  after  lunch  we  will  resume  opera- 
tions." 

But  fortune  was  to  give  him  an  opportun- 

[110] 


Another  Wedge  t 
ity  even  before  lunch.  It  appeared  that 
Stabb  had  sniffed  out  the  existence  of  two 
old  brasses  in  Fillby  Church;  he  was  de- 
termined to  inspect  them  at  the  earliest  pos- 
sible moment.  Lynborough  courteously  of- 
fered to  accompany  him,  and  they  set  out 
together  about  eleven  o'clock. 

No  incident  marked  their  way.  Lyn- 
borough rang  up  the  parish  clerk  at  his 
house,  presented  Stabb  to  that  important 
functionary,  and  bespoke  for  him  every  con- 
sideration. Then  he  leaned  against  the  out- 
side of  the  churchyard  wall,  peacefully 
smoking  a  cigarette. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  village  street 
stood  the  Lynborough  Ai-ms.  The  inn  was 
kept  by  a  very  superior  man,  who  had  retired 
to  this  comparative  leisure  after  some  years 
of  service  as  butler  with  Lynborough's 
father.    This    excellent    person,    perceiving 

[111] 


Helena's  Path 
Lynborough,  crossed  the  road  and  invited 
him  to  partake  of  a  glass  of  ale  in  memory 
of  old  days.  Readily  acquiescing,  Lynbor- 
ough crossed  the  road,  sat  down  with  the 
landlord  on  a  bench  by  the  porch,  and  began 
to  discuss  local  affairs  over  the  beer. 

"I  suppose  you  haven't  kept  up  your 
cricket  since  you've  been  in  foreign  parts, 
my  lord?"  asked  Dawson,  the  landlord, 
after  some  conversation  which  need  not 
occupy  this  narrative.  "We're  playing  a 
team  from  Easthorpe  to-morrow,  and  we're 
very  short." 

"Haven't  played  for  nearly  fifteen  years, 
Dawson.  But  I  tell  you  what  —  I  daresay 
my  friend  Mr.  Wilbraham  will  play.  Mr. 
Stabb's   no   use." 

"Every  one  helps,"  said  Dawson.  "We've 
got  two  of  the  gentlemen  from  the  Grange 
—  Mr.  Stillford,  a  good  bat,  and  Captain 

1 112  J 


Another  Wedge  I 
Irons,  who  can  bowl  a  bit  —  or  so  John 
Goodenough  tells  me." 

Lynborough's  eyes  had  grown  alert.  "  Well, 
I  used  to  bowl  a  bit,  too.  If  you're  really 
hard  up  for  a  man,  Dawson  —  really  at  a 
loss,  you  know  —  I'll  play.  It'll  be  better 
than  going  into  the  field  short,  won't  it  ?" 

Dawson  was  profuse  in  his  thanks.  Lyn- 
borough  listened  patiently. 

"I  tell  you  what  I  should  like  to  do, 
Dawson,"  he  said.  "I  should  like  to  stand 
the  lunch." 

It  was  the  turn  of  Dawson's  eyes  to  grow 
alert.  They  did.  Dawson  supplied  the  luncli. 
The  club's  finances  were  slender,  and  its 
ideas  correspondingly  modest.  But  if  Lord 
Lynborough  "stood"  the  lunch ! 

"And  to  do  it  really  well,"  added  that 
nobleman.  "A  sort  of  little  feast  to  cele- 
brate my  homecoming.  The  two  teams  — 

[113] 


Helena  s  Path 
and  perhaps  a  dozen  places  for  friends  — 
ladies,  the  Vicar,  and  so  on,  eh,  Dawson  ? 
Do   you   see   the  idea?" 

Dawson  saw  the  idea  much  more  clearly 
than  he  saw  most  ideas.  Almost  corporeally 
he  beheld  the  groaning  board. 

"On  such  an  occasion,  Dawson,  we 
shouldn't   quarrel  about  figures." 

" Your'*lordship's  always  most  liberal," 
Dawson  acknowledged  in  tones  which  showed 
some  trace  of  emotion. 

"Put  the  matter  in  hand  at  once.  But 
look  here,  I  don't  want  it  talked  about. 
Just  tell  the  secretary  of  the  club  —  that's 
enough.  Keep  the  tent  empty  till  the  mo- 
ment comes.  Then  display  your  triumph! 
It'll  be  a  pleasant  little  surprise  for  every- 
body, won't  it  .^" 

Dawson  thought  it  would;  at  any  rate 
it  was  one  for  him. 

[114] 


Another  Wedge  ! 

At  this  instant  an  elderly  lady  of  demure 
appearance  was  observed  to  walk  up  to  the 
lych-gate  and  enter  the  churchyard.  Lyn- 
borough  inquired  of  his  companion  who 
she  was. 

"That's  Miss  Gilletson  from  the  Grange,' 
my  lord  —  the  Marchesa's  companion." 

"Is  it.?"  said  Lynborough  softly.' "Oh, 
is  it  indeed  ?"  He  rose  from  his  seat.  "  Good- 
by,  Dawson.  Mind  —  a  dead  secret,  and 
a  rattling  good  lunch!" 

"I'll  attend  to  it,  my  lord,"  Dawson  as- 
sured him  with  the  utmost  cheerfulness. 
Never  had  Dawson  invested  a  glass  of  beer 
to  better  profit! 

Lynborough  threw  away  his  cigar  and 
entered  the  sacred  precincts.  His  brain 
was  very  busy.  "Another  wedge!"  he  was 
saying  to  himself.  "Another  wedge!" 

The    lady    had    gone    into    the    church. 

[115] 


Helena's  Path 
Lynboroiigh  went  in  too.  He  came  first  on 
Stabb  —  on  his  hands  and  knees,  examining 
one  of  the  old  brasses  and  making  copious 
notes  in  a  pocket-book. 

"Have  you  seen  a  lady  come  in,  Crom- 
lech ?"  asked  Lord  Lynborough. 

"No,  I  haven't,"  said  Cromlech,  now 
producing  a  yard  measure  and  proceeding 
to  ascertain    the  dimensions  of  the  brass. 

"You  wouldn't,  if  it  were  Venus  herself," 
replied  Lynborough  pleasantly.  "Well,  I 
must  look  for  her  on  my  own  account." 

He  found  her  in  the  neighborhood  of  his 
family  monuments  which,  with  his  family 
pew,  crowded  the  little  chancel  of  the  church. 
She  was  not  employed  in  devotions,  but  was 
arranging  some  flowers  in  a  vase  —  doubt- 
less a  pious  offering.  Somewhat  at  a  loss 
how  to  open  the  conversation,  Lynborough 
dropped  his  hat  —  or  rather  gave  it  a  dex- 


Another  Wedge! 
terous  jerk,  so  that  it  fell  at  the  lady's  feet. 
Miss  Gilletson  started  violently,  and  Lord 
Lynborough  humbly  apologized.  Thence 
he  glided  into  conversation,  first  about  the 
flowers,  then  about  the  tombs.  On  the  latter 
subject  he  was  exceedingly  interesting  and 
informing. 

"Dear,  dear!  Married  the  Duke  of  Dex- 
minster's  daughter,  did  he.^^"  said  Miss 
Gilletson,  considerably  thrilled.  "She's  not 
buried  here,  is  she  .^" 

"No,  she's  not,"  said  Lynborough,  sup- 
pressing the  fact  that  the  lady  had  run  away 
after  six  months  of  married  life.  "And  my 
own  father's  not  buried  here,  either;  he 
chose  my  mother's  family  place  in  Devon- 
shire. I  thought  it  rather  a  pity." 

"Your  own  father.^"  Miss  Gilleston 
gasped. 

"Oh,  I  forgot  you  didn't  know  me,"  he 

[117] 


Helena^ s  Path 
said,  laughing.  "I'm  Lord  Lynborough^you 
know.  That's  how  I  come'to  be  so  well  up  in 
all  this.  And  I  tell  you  what  —  I  should  like 
to  show  you  some  of  our  Scarsmoor  roses 
on  your  way  home." 

"  Oh,  but  if  you're  Lord  Lynborough,  I  — ' 
I  really  couldn't " 

"  Wlio's  to  know  anything  about  it,  unless 
you  choose.  Miss  Gilletson?"  he  asked 
with  his  ingratiating  smile  and  his  merry 
twinkle.  "There's  nothing  so  pleasant  as  a 
secret  shared  with  a  lady!" 

It  w^as  a  long  time  since  a  handsome  man 
had  shared  a  secret  with  Miss  Gilletson. 
Who  knows,  indeed,  whether  such  a  thing 
had  ever  happened  ?  Or  whether  Miss 
Gilletson  had  once  just  dreamed  that  some 
day  it  might  —  and  had  gone  on  dreaming 
for  long,  long  days,  till  even  the  dream  had 
slowly  and  sadly  faded  away  ?  For  some- 

[118] 


Another  Wedge  ! 
times  it  does  happen  like  that.  Lynborough 
meant  nothing  —  but  no  possible  effort 
(supposing  he  made  it)  could  enable  him  to 
look  as  if  he  meant  nothing.  One  thing  at 
least  he  did  mean  —  to  make  himself  very 
pleasant  to  Miss  Gilletson. 

Interested  knave !  It  is  impossible  to  avoid 
that  reflection.  Yet  let  ladies  in  their  turn 
ask  themselves  if  they  are  over-scrupulous 
in  their  treatment  of  one  man  when  their 
affections  are  set  upon  another. 

He  showed  Miss  Gilletson  all  the  family 
tombs.  He  escorted  her  from  the  church. 
Under  renewed  vows  of  secrecy  he  induced 
her  to  enter  Scarsmoor.  Once  in  the  gardens, 
the  good  lady  was  lost.  They  had  no  such 
roses  at  Nab  Grange!  Lynborough  insisted 
on  sending  an  enormous  bouquet  to  the 
Vicar's  wife  in  Miss  Gilletson's  name  — 
and    Miss    Gilletson   grew    merry    as    she 

[119] 


Helena's  Path 
pictured  the  mystification  of  the  Vicar's  wife. 
For  Miss  Gilletson  herself  he  superintended 
the  selection  of  a  nosegay  of  the  choicest 
blooms;  they  laughed  again  together  when 
she  hid  them  in  a  large  bag  she  carried  — 
destined  for  the  tea  and  tobacco  which 
represented  her  little  charities.  Then  — 
after  pausing  for  one  private  word  in  his 
gardener's  ear,  which  caused  a  boy  to  be 
sent  off  post-haste  to  the  stables  —  he  led 
her  to  the  road,  and  in  vain  implored  her 
to  honor  his  house  by  setting  foot  in  it. 
There  the  fear  of  the  Marchesa  or  (it  is 
pleasanter  to  think)  some  revival  of  the 
sense  of  youth,  bred  by  Lynborough's  de- 
ferential courtliness,  prevailed.  They  came 
together  through  his  lodge  gates;  and  Miss 
Gilletson's  face  suddenly  fell. 

*'That  wretched  gate!"  she  cried.  "It's 
locked  —  and  I  haven't  got  the  key." 

fl20] 


Another  Wedge  ! 

"No  more  have  I,  I'm  sorry  to  say," 
said  Lynboroiigli.  He,  on  his  part,  had 
forgotten  nothing. 

"It's  nearly  two  miles  round  by  the  road 
—  and  so  hot  and  dusty !  —  Really  Helena 
does  cut  off  her  nose  to  spite  her  face!" 
Though,  in  truth,  it  appeared  rather  to  be 
Miss  Gilletson's  nose  the  Marchesa  had  cut 
off. 

A  commiserating  gravity  sat  on  Lord 
Lynborough's  attentive  countenance. 

*'If  I  were  younger,  I'd  climb  that  wall,'* 
declared  Miss  Gilletson.  "As  it  is  —  w^ell, 
but  for  your  lovely  flowers,  I'd  better  have 
gone  the  other  way  after  all." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  feel  that,"  said  he, 
almost  tenderly. 

"I  must  walk!" 

''Oh  no,  you  needn't,"  said  Lynborough. 

As  he  spoke,  there  issued  from  the  gates 

[121] 


Helena's  Path 
behind  them  a  luxurious  victoria,  drawn  by 
two  admirable  horses.  It  came  to  a  stand  by 
Lynborough,    the    coachman    touching   his 
hat,   the   footman   leaping   to   the   ground. 

"Just  take  Miss  Gilletson  to  the  Grange, 
Williams.  Stop  a  little  way  short  of  the 
house.  She  wants  to  walk  through  the 
garden." 

"Very  good,  my  lord." 

"Put  up  the  hood,  Charles.  The  sun's 
very  hot  for  Miss  Gilletson." 

"Yes,  my  lord." 

"  Nobody'll  see  you  if  you  get  out  a  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  door  —  and  it's  really 
better  than  tramping  the  road  on  a  day 
like  this.  Of  course,  if  Beach  Path  were 
open — !"  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  ever 
so  slightly. 

Fear  of  the  Marchesa  struggled  in  Miss 
Gilletson's  heart  with  the  horror  of  the  hot 

[122] 


Another  Wedge  I 
and  tiring  walk  —  with  the  seduction  of  the 
shady,  softly  roUing,  speedy  carriage. 

"If  I  met  Helena!"  she  whispered;  and 
the  whisper  was  an  admission  of  reciprocal 
confidence. 

"It's  the  chance  of  that  against  the  cer- 
tainty of  the  tramp!'* 

"She  didn't  come  down  to  breakfast  this 


morning " 


"Ah,  didn't  she?"  Lynborough  made  a 
note  for  his  Intelligence  Department. 

"Perhaps  she  isn't  up  yet!  I  —  I  think 
I'll  take  the  risk." 

Lynborough    assisted    her    into   the  car- 


nage. 


"I  hope  we  shall  meet  again,"  he  said, 
with  no  small  cmpressement. 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  answered  INIiss  Gilletson 
dolefully.  "  You  see,  Helena " 

"Yes,  yes;  but  ladies  have  their  moods. 


Helena^ s  Path 
Anyhow  you  won't  think  too  hardly  of  me, 
will  you  ?  I'm  not  altogether  an  ogre." 

There  was  a  pretty  faint  blush  on  Miss 
Gilletson's  cheek  as  she  gave  him  her  hand. 
"An  ogre!  No,  dear  Lord  Lynborough," 
she  murmured. 

"A  wedge!"  said  Lynborough,  as  he 
watched   her   drive    away. 

He  was  triumphant  with  what  he  had 
achieved  —  he  was  full  of  hope  for  what 
he  had  planned.  If  he  reckoned  right,  the 
loyalty  of  the  ladies  at  Nab  Grange  to  the 
mistress  thereof  was  tottering,  if  it  had  not 
fallen.  His  relations  with  the  men  awaited 
the  result  of  the  cricket  match.  Yet  neither 
his  triumph  nor  his  hope  could  in  the  nature 
of  the  case  exist  without  an  intermixture 
of  remorse.  He  hurt  —  or  tried  to  hurt  — 
what  he  would  please  —  and  hoped  to  please. 
His  mood  was  mixed,  and  his  smile  not  al- 

[K4] 


Another  Wedge! 
together  mirthful  as  he  stood  looking  at  the 
fast-receding  carriage. 

Then  suddenly,  for  the  first  time,  he  saw 
his  enemy.  Distantly  —  afar  off !  Yet  with- 
out a  doubt  it  was  she.  As  he  turned  and  cast 
his  eyes  over  the  forbidden  path  —  the  path 
whose  seclusion  he  had  violated,  bold  in  his 
right  —  a  white  figure  came  to  the  sunk 
fence  and  stood  there,  looking  not  toward 
where  he  stood,  but  up  to  his  castle  on  the 
hill.  Lynborough  edged  near  to  the  barri- 
caded gate  —  a  new  padlock  and  new 
chevaux-de-fru'e  of  prickly  branches  guarded 
it.  The  latter,  high  as  his  head,  screened  him 
completely;  he  peered  through  the  inter- 
stices in  absolute  security. 

The  white  fio;ure  stood  on  the  little  b^-idfye 
which  led  over  the  sunk  fence  into  the  mea- 
dow. He  could  see  neither  feature  nor  color; 
only  the  slender  shape  caught  and  chained 

[125] 


Helena's  Path 
his  eye.  Tall  she  was,  and  slender,  as  his 
mocking  forecast  had  prophesied.  More  than 
that  he  could  not  see. 

Well,  he  did  see  one  more  thing.  This 
beautiful  shape,  after  a  few  minutes  of  what 
must  be  presumed  to  be  meditation,  raised 
its  arm  and  shook  its  fist  with  decision  at 
Scarsmoor  Castle;  then  it  turned  and  walk- 
ed straight  back  to  the  Grange. 
'  There  was  no  sort  of  possibility  of  mis- 
taking the  nature  or  the  meaning  of  the  ges- 
ture. 

It  had  the  result  of  stifling  Lynborough's 
softer  mood,  of  reviving  his  pugnacity. 
"She  must  do  more  than  that,  if  she's  to 
win!"  said  he. 


[126] 


Chxi'pter  Eight 

THE    MARCHESA    MOVES 

After  her  demonstration  against  Scarsmoor 
Castle,  the  Marchesa  went  in  to  lunch.  But 
there  were  objects  of  her  wrath  nearer  home 
also.  She  received  Norah's  salute  —  they 
had  not  met  before,  that  morning  —  with 
icy   coldness. 

"I'm  better,  thank  you,"  she  said,  "but 
you  must  be  feeling  tired  —  having  been  up  so 
very  early  in  the  morning !  And  you  —  Violet 
— have  you  been  over  to  Scarsmoor  again  ?" 

Violet  had  heard  from  Norah  all  about  the 
latter's  morning  adventure.  They  exchanged 
uneasy  glances.  Yet  they  were  prepared  to 
back  one  another  up.  The  men  looked  more 

[127] 


Helena's  Path 
frightened ;  men  are  frightened  when  women 
quarrel. 

"One  of  you,"  continued  the  Marchesa 
accusingly,  "pursues  Lord  Lynborough  to 
his  own  threshold  —  the  other  flirts  with 
him  in  my  own  meadow!  Rather  peculiar 
signs  of  friendship  for  me  under  the  present 
circumstances  —  don't  you  think  so.  Colonel 
Wenman  ?" 

The  Colonel  thought  so  —  though  he 
would  have  greatly  preferred  to  be  at  liberty 
to  entertain  —  or  at  least  to  express  —  no 
opinion  on  so  thorny  a  point. 

"Flirt  with  him.?  Wliat  do  you  mean?" 
But  Norah's  protest  lacked  the  ring  of  honest 
indignation. 

"Kissing  one's  hand  to  a  mere  stranger 


j> 


"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  You  were  in 
bed." 

[128] 


The  Marchesa  Moves 

"Carlotta  saw  you  from  her  window. 
You    don't    deny   it?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Norah,  perceiving 
the  uselessness  of  such  a  course.  "In  fact,  I 
glory  in  it.  I  had  a  splendid  time  with  Lord 
Lynborough.  Oh,  I  did  try  to  keep  him  out 
for  you  —  but  he  jumped  over  my  head." 

Sensation  among  the  gentlemen !  Increased 
scorn  on  the  Marchesa's  face ! 

"And  when  I  got  John  Goodenough  to 
help  me,  he  just  laid  John  down  on  the  grass 
as  —  as  I  lay  that  spoon  on  the  table !  He's 
splendid,  Helena!" 

"He  seems  a  good  sort  of  chap,"  said 
Irons  thoughtfully. 

The  Marchesa  looked  at  Wenman. 

"  Nothing  to  be  said  for  the  fellow,  nothing 
at  all,"  declared  the  Colonel  hastily. 

"Thank  you,  Colonel  Wenman.  I'm  glad 
I  have  one  friend  left  anyhow.  Oh,  besides 

[129] 


Helena's  Path 
you,  Mr.  Stillford,  of  course.  Oh,  and  you, 
dear  old  Jennie,  of  course.  You  wouldn't 
forsake  me,  would  you?" 
I    The  tone  of  affection  was  calculated  to 
gratify  Miss  Gilletson.  But  against  it  had 
to  be  set  the  curious  and  amused  gaze  of 
Norah  and  Violet.  Seen  by  these  two  ladies 
in  the  act  of  descending  from  a  stylish  (and 
coroneted)    victoria   in   the   drive   of   Nab 
Grange,    Miss    Gilletson   had,   pardonably 
perhaps,   broken   down  rather  severely  in 
cross-examination.   She  had  been  so  very 
proud  of  the  roses  —  so  very  full  of  Lord 
Lynborough's   graces!   She   was   conscious 
now  that  the  pair  held  her  in  their  hands 
and  were  demanding  courage  from  her. 

"  Forsake  you,  dearest  Helena  ?  Of  course 
not!  There's  no  question  of  that  with  any 
of  us." 

"  Yes  —  there  is  —  with  those  of  you  who 

[130] 


The  Marchesa  Moves 
make  friends   with   that   wretch   at   Scars- 
moor!'* 

"  Really,  Helena,  you  shouldn't  be  so  — 
so  vehement.  I'm  not  sure  it's  ladylike.  It's 
absurd  to  call  Lord  Lynborough  a  wretch." 
The  pale  faint  flush  again  adorned  her  fad- 
ing cheeks.  *'  I  never  met  a  man  more  thor- 
oughly a  gentleman." 

\  "You  never  met — "  began  the  Marchesa 
in  petrified  tones.  "  Then  you  have  met  —  ?  " 
Again  her  words  died  away. 

Miss  Gilletson  took  her  courage  in  both 
hands. 

"Circumstances  threw  us  together.  I 
behaved  as  a  lady  does  under  such  circum- 
stances, Helena.  And  Lord  Lynborough  Tvas, 
under  the  circumstances,  most  charming, 
courteous,  and  considerate.''  She  gathered 
more  courage  as  she  proceeded.  "And  really 
it's   highly   inconvenient   having   that   gate 

[131] 


Helena  s  Path 
locked,  Helena.  I  had  to  come  all  the  way 
round  by  the  road." 

*'  I'm  sorry  if  you  find  yourself  fatigued,'* 
said  the  Marchesa  with  formal  civility. 

"I'm  not  fatigued,  thank  you,  Helena.  I 
should  have  been  terribly  —  but  for  Lord 
Lynborough's  kindness  in  sending  me  home 
in  his  carriage." 

A  pause  followed.  Then  Norah  and  Violet 
began  to  giggle. 

"It  was  so  funny  this  morning!"  said 
Norah  —  and  boldly  launched  on  a  full 
story  of  her  adventure.  She  held  the  atten- 
tion of  the  table.  The  Marchesa  sat  in 
gloomy  silence.  Violet  chimed  in  with  more 
reminiscences  of  her  visit  to  Scarsmoor; 
Miss  Gilletson  contributed  new  items,  in- 
cluding that  matter  of  the  roses.  Norah 
ended  triumphantly  with  a  eulogy  on  Lyn- 
borough's   extraordinary    physical    powers. 

[132] 


The  Marchesa  Moves 
Captain  Irons  listened  with  concealed  in- 
terest. Even  Colonel  Wenman  ventured  to 
opine  that  the  enemy  was  worth  fighting. 
Stillford  imitated  his  hostess's  silence,  but 
he  was  watching  her  closely.  Would  her 
courage  —  or  lier  obstinacy  —  break  down 
under  these  assaults,  this  lukewarmness, 
these  desertions  ?  In  his  heart,  fearful  of 
that  lawsuit,  he  hoped  so. 

*'I  shall  prosecute  him  for  assaulting 
Goodenough,"    the    Marchesa    announced. 

"Goodenough  touched  him  first!"  cried 
Nor  ah. 

"That  doesn't  matter,  since  I'm  in  the 
right.  He  had  no  business  to  be  there.  That's 
the  law,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Stillford  ?  Will  he  be 
sent  to  prison  or  only  heavily  fined?" 

*'  Well  —  er  —  I'm  rather  afraid  —  nei- 
ther, Marchesa.  You  see,  he'll  plead  his 
right,  and  the  Bench  would  refer  us  to  our 

[133] 


Helena's  Path 
civil  remedy  and  dismiss  the  summons.  At 
least  that's  my  opinion. ",( 

"Of    course    that's   right,"    pronounced 
Norah    in    an   authoritative    tone. 
•    "If   that's    the   English   law,"    observed 
the   Marchesa,   rising   from   the   table,   "I 
greatly  regret  that  I  ever  settled  in  England. " 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  this  afternoon, 
Helena  ?  Going  to  play  tennis  —  or  cro- 
quet?" 

"  I'm  going  for  a  walk,  thank  you,  Violet. " 
She  paused  for  a  moment  and  then  added, 
"By  myself." 

"Oh,  mayn't  I  have  the  privilege  —  ?" 
began  the  Colonel. 

"  Not  to-day,  thank  you,  Colonel  Wenman. 
I  —  I  have  a  great  deal  to  think  about.  We 
shall  meet  again  at  tea  —  unless  you're 
all  iroin<T  to  tea  at  Scarsmoor  Castle!"  With 
this  Parthian  shot  she  left  them. 

[134] 


The  Marchesa  Moves 
She  had  indeed  much  to  think  of  —  and 
her  reflections  were  not  cast  in  a  cheerful 
mold.  She  had  underrated  her  enemy.  It 
had  seemed  sufiicient  to  lock  the  gate  and 
to  forbid  Lynborough's  entry.  These  easy 
measures  had  appeared  to  leave  him  no 
resource  save  blank  violence:  in  that  con- 
fidence she  had  sat  still  and  done  nothing. 
He  had  been  at  work  —  not  by  blank  vio- 
lence, but  by  cunning  devices  and  subtle 
machinations.  He  had  made  a  base  use  of 
his  personal  fascinations,  of  his  athletic 
gifts,  even  of  his  lordly  domain,  his  garden 
of  roses,  and  his  carriage.  She  perceived  his 
strategy;  she  saw  now  how  he  had  driven 
in  his  wedges.  Her  ladies  had  already  gone 
over  to  his  side;  even  her  men  were  shaken. 
Stillford  had  always  been  lukewarm;  Irons 
was  fluttering  round  Lynborough's  flame; 
Wenman    might    still    be    hers  —  but    an 

[135] 


Helena^ s  Path 
isolation  mitigated  only  by  Colonel  Wenman 
seemed  an  isolation  not  mitigated  in  the 
least.  When  she  had  looked  forward  to  a 
fight,  it  had  not  been  to  such  a  fight  as  this. 
An  enthusiastic,  hilarious,  united  Nab 
Grange  was  to  have  hurled  laughing  de- 
fiance at  Scarsmoor  Castle.  Now  more  than 
half  Nab  Grange  laughed  —  but  its  laughter 
was  not  at  the  Castle ;  its  laughter,  its  pitying 
amusement,  was  directed  at  her;  Lynbor- 
ough's  triumphant  campaign  drew  all  ad- 
miration. He  had  told  Stillford  that  he  would 
harry  her ;  he  was  harrying  her  to  his  heart's 
content  —  and  to  a  very  soreness  in  hers. 
'  For  the  path  —  hateful  Beach  Path  which 
her  feet  at  this  moment  trod  —  became  now 
no  more  than  an  occasion  for  battle,  a  sym- 
bol of  strife.  The  greater  issue  stood  out.  It 
was  that  this  man  had  peremptorily  chal- 
lenged her  to  a  fight  —  and  was  beating  her ! 

[136] 


The  Marchesa  Moves 
And  he  won  his  victory,  not  by  male  violence 
in  spite  of  male  stupidity,  but  by  just  the 
arts  and  the  cunning  which  should  have 
been  her  own  weapons.  To  her  he  left  the 
blunt,  the  inept,  the  stupid  and  violent 
methods.  He  chose  the  more  refined,  and 
wielded  them  like  a  master.  It  was  a  position 
to  which  the  Marchesa's  experience  had  not 
accustomed  her  —  one  to  which  her  spirit 
was  by  no  means  attuned. 

What  was  his  end  —  that  end  whose  ap- 
proach seemed  even  now  clearly  indicated  ? 
It  was  to  convict  her  at  once  of  cowardice 
and  of  pig-headedness,  to  exhibit  her  as 
afraid  to  bring  him  to  book  by  law,  and  yet 
too  churlish  to  cede  him  his  rights.  He  would 
get  all  her  friends  to  think  that  about  her. 
Then  she  would  be  left  alone  —  to  fight  a 
lost  battle  all  alone. 

Was  he  right  in  his  charge  ?  Did  it  truly 

[137] 


Helena* s  Path 
describe  her  conduct  ?  For  any  truth  there 
might  be  in  it,  she  declared  that  he  was 
himself  to  blame.  He  had  forced  the  fight  on 
her  by  his  audacious  demand  for  instant 
surrender;  he  had  given  her  no  fair  time 
for  consideration,  no  opportunity  for  a  dig- 
nified retreat.  He  had  offered  her  no  choice 
save  between  ignominy  and  defiance.  If  she 
chose  defiance,  his  rather  than  hers  was  the 
blame. 

Suddenly  —  across  these  dismal  brood- 
ings  —  there  shot  a  new  idea.  Fas  est  et 
ah  hoste  doceri;  she  did  not  put  it  in  Latin, 
but  it  came  to  the  same  thing  —  Couldn't 
she  pay  Lynborough  back  in  his  own  coin  ? 
She  had  her  resources  —  perhaps  she  had 
been  letting  them  lie  idle !  Lord  Lynborough 
did  not  live  alone  at  Scarsmoor.  If  there  were 
women  open  to  his  wiles  at  the  Grange, 
were  there  no  men  open  to  hers  at  Scars- 

[138] 


The  Marchesa  Moves 
moor?  The  idea  was  illuminating;  she  ac- 
corded it  place  in  her  thoughts. 

She  was  just  by  the  gate.  She  took  our  her 
key,  opened  the  padlock,  closed  the  gate 
behind  her,  but  did  not  lock  it,  walked  on 
to  the  road,  and  surveyed  the  territory  of 
Scarsmoor. 

Fate  helps  those  who  help  themselves: 
her  new  courage  of  brain  and  heart  had  its 
reward.  She  had  not  been  there  above  a 
minute  when  Roger  Wilbraham  came  out 
from  the  Scarsmoor  gates. 

Lynborough  had,  he  considered,  done 
enough  for  one  day.  He  was  awaiting  the 
results  of  to-morrow's  manoeuvers  anent 
the  cricket  match.  But  he  amused  himself 
after  lunch  by  proffering  to  Roger  a  wager 
that  he  would  not  succeed  in  traversing 
Beach  Path  from  end  to  end,  and  back  again, 
alone,  ])y  his   own  unassisted  efforts,   and 

[139] 


Helena^ s  Path 
without  being  driven  to  ignominious  flight. 
Without  a  moment's  hesitation  Roger  ac- 
cepted.  "I  shall  just  wait   till   the   coast's 
clear,"  he  said. 

"Ah,  but  they'll  see  you  from  the  win- 
dows! They  will  be  on  the  lookout,"  Lyn- 
borough  retorted. 

The  Marchesa  had  strolled  a  little  way 
down  the  road.  She  was  walking  back  to- 
ward the  gate  when  Poger  first  came  in 
sight.  He  did  not  see  her  until  after  he  had 
reached  the  gate.  There  he  stood  a  moment, 
considering  at  what  point  to  attack  it  —  for 
the  barricade  was  formidable.  He  came  to  the 
same  conclusion  as  Lynborough  had  reached 
earlier  in  the  day.  "Oh,  I'll  jump  the  wall," 
he  said. 

"The  gate  isn't  locked,"  remarked  a 
charming  voice  just  behind  him. 

He  turned  round  with  a  start  and  saw  — 

[140] 


The  Marchcsa  Moves 
he  had  no  doubt  whom  she  was.  The  Mar- 
chesa's  tall  slender  figure  stood  before  him  — 
all  in  white,  crowned  by  a  large,  yet  simple, 
white  hat;  her  pale  olive  cheeks  were  tinged 
with  underlying  red  (the  flush  of  which 
Lynborough  had  dreamed!);  her  dark  eyes 
rested  on  the  young  man  with  a  kindly 
languid  interest;  her  very  red  hps  showed 
no  smile,  yet  seemed  to  have  one  in  ready 
ambush.  Roger  was  overcome;  he  blushed 
and  stood  silent  before  the  vision. 

"  I  expect  you're  going  to  bathe  ?  Of  course 
this  is  the  shortest  way,  and  I  shall  be  so 
glad  if  you'll  use  it.  I'm  going  to  the  Grange 
myself,  so  I  can  put  you  on  your  way." 

Roger  was  honest.  "I  —  I'm  staying  at 
the  Castle." 

"I'll  tell  somebody  to  be  on  the  lookout 
and  open  the  gate  for  you  when  you  come 
back,"  said  she. 

[141] 


Helena^ s  Path 

If  Norah  was  no  match  for  Lynborougli, 
Roger  was  none  for  the  Marchesa's  prac- 
tised art. 

"You're  —  you're  awfully  kind.  I  —  I 
shall  be  delighted,  of  course." 

The  Marchesa  passed  through  the  gate. 
Roger  followed.  She  handed  him  the  key. 

*'  Will  you  please  lock  the  padlock  ?  It's 
not  —  safe  —  to   leave   the   gate   open." 

Her  smile  had  come  into  the  open  —  it 
was  on  the  red  lips  now!  For  all  his  agita- 
tion Roger  was  not  blind  to  its  meaning. 
His  hand  was  to  lock  the  gate  against  his 
friend  and  chief !  But  the  smile  and  the  eyes 
commanded.  He  obeyed. 

It  was  the  first  really  satisfactory  moment 
which  the  contest  had  brought  to  the  Mar- 
chesa —  some  small  instalment  of  consola- 
tion for  the  treason  of  her  friends. 

Roger  had  been  honestly  in  love  once  with 

[142] 


The  MarcJiesa  Moves 
a  guileless  maiden  —  who  had  promptly 
and  quite  unguilefully  refused  him;  his  ex- 
perience did  not  at  all  fit  him  to  cope  with 
the  Marchesa.  She,  of  course,  was  merciless : 
was  he  not  of  the  hated  house  ?  As  an  in- 
dividual, however,  he  appeared  to  be  comely 
and  agreeable. 

They  walked  on  side  by  side  —  not  very 
quickly.  The  Marchesa's  eyes  were  now 
downcast.  Roger  was  able  to  steal  a  glance 
at  her  profile ;  he  could  compare  it  to  nothing 
less  than  a  Roman  Empress  on  an  ancient 
silver  coin. 

"I  suppose  you've  been  taught  to  think 
me  a  very  rude  and  unneighborly  person, 
haven't  you,  Mr.  Wilbraham  ?  At  least  I 
suppose  you're  Mr.  Wilbraham  ?  You  don't 
look  old  enough  to  be  that  learned  Mr. 
Stabb  the  Vicar  told  me  about.  Though  he 
said  Mr.  Stabb  was  absolutely  delightful  — 

[143] 


Helena's  Path 
how  I  should  love  to  know  him,  if  only  — ! " 
She  broke  off,  sighing  deeply. 

"Yes,  my  name's  Wilbraham.  I'm  Lyn- 
borough's  secretary.  But  —  er  —  I  don't 
think  anything  of  that  sort  about  you. 
And  —  and  I've  never  heard  Lynborough 
say  anything  —  er  —  unkind. " 

"Oh,  Lord  Lynborough!"  She  gave  a 
charming  little  shrug,  accompanied  with 
what  Roger,  from  his  novel-reading,  con- 
ceived  to  be  a  moue. 

"  Of  course  I  —  I  know  that  you  —  you 
think  you're  right,"  he  stammered. 

She  stopped  on  the  path.  "Yes,  I  do 
think  I'm  right,  Mr.  Wilbraham.  But  that's 
not  it.  If  it  were  merely  a  question  of  right, 
it  would  be  unneighborly  to  insist.  I'm  not 
hurt  by  Lord  Lynborough's  using  this  path. 
But  I'm  hurt  by  Lord  Lynborough's  dis- 
courtesy. In  my  country  women  are  treated 

[  144  ] 


The  Marchesa  Moves 
with  respect  —  even  sometimes  (she  gave  a 
bitter   Httle   laugh)    with   deference,    That 
doesn't  seem  to  occur  to  Lord  Lynborough." 

"Well,  you  know " 

"Oh,  I  can't  let  you  say  a  word  against 
him,  whatever  you  may  be  obliged  to  think. 
In  your  position  —  as  his  friend  —  that 
would  be  disloyal;  and  the  one  thing  I  dis- 
like is  disloyalty.  Only  I  was  anxious  ' ' —  she 
turned  and  faced  him  —  "  that  you  should  un- 
derstand my  position  —  and  that  Mr.  Stabb 
should  too.  I  shall  be  very  glad  if  you  and  Mr. 
Stabb  will  use  the  path  whenever  you  like.  If 
the  gate's  locked  you  can  manage  the  wall !" 

"I'm  —  I'm  most  awfully  obliged  to  you 
—  er  —  Marchesa  —  but  you  see " 

"No  more  need  be  said  about  that,  Mr. 
Wilbraham.  You're  heartily  welcome.  Lord 
Lynborough  would  have  been  heartily  wel- 
come too,  if  he  would  have  approached  me 

[145] 


Helena" s  Path 
praperly.  I  was  open  to  discussion.  I  re- 
ceived  orders.    I   don't   take   orders  —  not 
even    from    Lord    Lynborough." 

She  looked  splendid  —  so  Roger  thought. 
The  underlying  red  dyed  the  olive  to  a 
brighter  hue ;  her  eyes  were  very  proud ;  the 
red  lips  shut  decisively.  Just  like  a  Roman 
Empress!  Then  her  face  underwent  a 
rapid  transformation;  the  lips  parted,  the 
eyes  laughed,  the  cheeks  faded  to  hues  less 
stormy,  yet  not  less  beautiful.  (These  are 
recorded  as  Mr.  Wilbraham's  impressions.) 
Lightly  she  laid  the  tips  of  her  fingers  on  his 
arm  for  just  a  moment. 

*'  There  —  don't  let's  talk  any  more  about 
disagreeable  things,"  she  said.  "It's  too 
beautiful  an  afternoon.  Can  you  spare  just 
five  minutes  ?  The  strawberries  are  splendid ! 
I  want  some  —  and  it's  so  hot  to  pick  them 
for  one's  self!" 

[146] 


The  Mxrchesa  Moves 

Roger  paused,  twisting  the  towel  round 
his  neck. 

"Only  five  minutes!"  pleaded  —  yes, 
pleaded  —  the  beautiful  Marchesa.  *'  Then 
you  can  go  and  have  your  swim  in  peace." 

It  was  a  question  whether  poor  Roger  w^as 
to  do  anything  more  in  peace  that  day  — - 
but  he  went  and  picked  the  strawberries. 


[147] 


Chapter  Nine 

LYNBOROUGH   DROPS   A    CATCH 

"Something  has  happened!"  (So  Lyn- 
borough  records  the  same  evening.)  "I 
don't  know  precisely  what  —  but  I  think 
that  th  e  enemy  is  at  last  in  motion.  I'm  glad. 
I  was  being  too  successful.  I  had  begun  to 
laugh  at  her  —  and  that  only.  I  prefer  the 
admixture  of  another  element  of  emotion. 
All  that  ostensibly  appears  is  that  I  have 
lost  five  shillings  to  Roger.  *  You  did  it  .^ '  I 
asked.  *  Certainly,'  said  Roger.  *I  went  at 
my  ease  and  came  back  at  my  ease,  and  — ' 
I  interrupted,  *  Nobody  stopped  you?' 
Nobody  made  any  objection,'  said  Roger. 
'You  took  your  time,'  says  I.   *You  were 

[148] 


Lyjihorough  Drops  a  Catch 
away  three  hours!'  'The  water  was  very 
pleasant  this  afternoon,'  says  Roger.  Hum! 
I  hand  over  my  two  half-crowns,  which 
Roger  pockets  with  a  most  peculiar  sort 
of  smile.  There  that  incident  appears  to 
end  —  with  a  comment  from  me  that  the 
Marchesa's  garrison  is  not  very  alert.  An- 
other smile  —  not  less  peculiar --from 
Roger!  Hum! 

"Then  Cromlech!  I  trust  Cromlech  as 
myself  —  that  is,  as  far  as  I  can  see  him. 
He  has  no  secrets  from  me  —  that  I  know  of ; 
I  have  none  from  him  —  which  would  be 
at  all  likely  to  interest  him.  Yet,  soon  after 
Roger's  return,  Cromlech  goes  out!  And 
they  had  been  alone  together  for  so  ne  min- 
utes, as  I  happen  to  have  observed.  Cromlech 
is  away  an  hour  and  a  half !  If  I  were  not 
a  man  of  honor,  I  would  have  trained  the 
telescope  on  to  him.  I  refrained.  Where  was 

[149] 


Helena's  Path 
Cromlech  ?  At  the  church,  he  told  me.  I 
accept  his  word  —  but  the  church  has  had  a 
curious  effect  upon  him.  Sometimes  he  is  silent, 
sulky,  reflective,  embarrassed  —  constantly 
rubbing  the  place  where  his  hair  ought  to  be 
—  not  altogether  too  civil  to  me  either. 
Anon,  sits  with  a  fat  happy  smile  on  his  face ! 
Has  he  found  a  new  tomb  ?  No ;  he'd  tell 
me  about  a  new  tomb.  What  has  happened 
to  Cromlech  ? 

"At  first  sight  Violet  —  the  insinuating 
one  —  would  account  for  the  phenomena. 
Or  Norah's  eyes  and  lashes  ?  Yet  I  hesitate. 
Woman,  of  course,  it  is,  with  both  of  them. 
Violet  might  make  men  pleased  with  them- 
selves; Norah  could  make  them  merry  and 
happy.  Yet  these  two  are  not  so  much  pleased 
with  themselves  —  rather  they  are  pleased 
with  events ;  they  are  not  merry  —  they  are 
thoughtful.  And  I  think  they  are  resentful.  I 

[150] 


Lynhorough  Drops  a  Catch 
believe  the  hostile  squadron  has  weighed  an- 
chor. In  these  great  results,  achieved  so 
quickly,  demanding  on  my  part  such  an 
effort  in  reply,  I  see  the  Marchesa's  touch! 
I  have  my  own  opinion  as  to  what  has 
happened  to  Roger  and  to  Cromlech.  Well, 
we  shall  see  —  to-morrow  is  the  cricket 
match!" 

"Later.  I  had  closed  this  record;  I  was 
preparing  to  go  to  bed  (wishing  to  bathe 
early  to-morrow)  when  I  found  that  I  had 
forgotten  to  bring  up  my  book.  Coltson 
had  gone  to  bed  —  or  out  —  anyhow,  away. 
I  went  down  myself.  The  library  door  stood 
ajar;  I  had  on  my  slippers;  a  light  burned 
still;  Cromlech  and  Roger  were  up.  As  I 
approached  —  with  an  Involuntary  noise- 
lessness  (I  really  couldn't  be  expected  to 
think  of  coughing,  in  my  own  house  and 
with  no  ladies  about)  —  I   overheard   this 

[  1'51  ] 


Helena's  Path 
remarkable,  most  significant,  most  important 
conversation : 

"  Cromlech:  'On  my  soul,  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes!' 

^^  Roger:  'Stabb,  can  we  as  gentlemen  —  ?' 

"Then,  as  I  presume,  the  shuffle  of  my 
slippers  became  audible.  I  went  in;  both 
drank  whisky-and-soda  in  a  hurried  fashion. 
I  took  my  book  from  the  table.  Naught  said 
I.  Their  confusion  was  obvious.  I  cast  on 
them  one  of  my  looks ;  Roger  blushed,  Stabb 
shuffled  his  feet.  I  left  them. 

'Tears  in  her  eyes !'  'Can  we  as  gentle- 
men .^' 

"The  Marchesa  moves  slowly,  but  she 
moves  in  force!" 

It  is  unnecessary  to  pursue  the  diary 
further ;  for  his  lordship  —  forgetful  appar- 
ently of  the  borne  of  bed,  to  which  he  had 
originally  destined  himself  —  launches  into 

[152] 


Lynborough  Drops  a  Catc 
a  variety  of  speculations  as  to  the  Nature  of 
Love.  Among  other  questions,  he  puts  to 
himself    the    following    concerning    Love: 

(I)  Is  it  Inevitable  ?  (2)  Is  it  Agreeable  ? 
(3)  Is  it  Universal  ?  (4)  Is  it  Wise  ?  (5)  Is  it 
Remunerative  ?  (6)  Is  it  Momentary  ?  (7) 
Is  it  Sempiternal  ?  (8)  Is  it  Voluntary  ?  (9) 
Is  it  Conditioned  ?  (10)  Is  it  Remediable  ? 

(II)  Is  it  Religious  ?  (There's  a  note  here  — 
"Consult  Cromlech")  —  (12)  May  it  be 
expected  to  survive  the  Advance  of  Civiliza- 
tion ?  (13)  Why  does  it  exist  at  all  ?  (14)  Is 
it  Ridiculous  ? 

It  is  not  to  be  inferred  that  Lord  Lyn- 
borough answers  these  questions.  He  is, 
Hke  a  wise  man,  content  to  propound  them. 
If,  however,  he  had  answered  them,  it  might 
have  been  worth  while  to  transcribe  the  diary. 

"Can  we  as  gentlemen —  ?"  — Roger 
had  put  the  question.  It  waited  unanswered 

[153] 


Helena  s  Path 
till  Lynborough  had  taken  his  book  and 
returned  to  record  its  utterance  —  together 
with  the  speculations  to  which  that  utterance 
gave  rise.  Stabb  weighed  it  carefully,  rubbing 
his  bald  head,  according  to  the  habit  which 
his  friend  had  animadverted  upon. 

"If  such  a  glorious  ^creature  — "  cried 
Roger. 

"If  a  thoroughly  intelligent  and  most 
sympathetic   woman — "    said    Stabb. 

"Thinks  that  she  has  a  right,  why,  she 
probably  has  one!" 

"At  any  rate  her  view  is  entitled  to  respect 
—  to  a  courteous  hearing.'* 

"Lynborough  does  appear  to  have  been 
a  shade  —  er " 

"Ambrose  is  a  spoiled  child,  bless  him! 
She  took  a  wonderful  interest  in  my  brasses. 
I  don't  know  what  brought  her  to  the 
church." 

[154] 


Lynhorough  Drops  a  Catch 

"She  waited  herself  to  let  me  through 
that  beastly  gate  agam;!" 

"  She  drove  me  round  herself  to  our  gates. 
Wouldn't  come  through  Scarsmoor!" 

They  both  sighed.  They  both  thought 
of  telling  the  other  something  —  but  on 
second  thoughts  refrained. 

"I  suppose  we'd  better  go  to  bed.  Shall 
you  bathe  to-morrow  morning?" 

"With  Ambrose?  No,  I  sha'n't,  Wil- 
braham." 

"No  more  shall  I.  Good-night,  Stabb. 
You'll  — think  it  over?" 

Stabb  grunted  inarticulately.  Roger  drew 
the  blind  aside  for  a  moment,  looked  down 
on  Nab  Grange,  saw  a  light  in  one  window 
—  and  went  to  bed.  The  window  was,  in 
objective  fact  (if  there  be  such  a  thing). 
Colonel  Wenman's.  No  matter.  There  noth- 
ing is  but  thinking  makes  it  so.  The  Colonel 

[155] 


Helena  s  Path 
was  sitting  up,  writing  a  persuasive  letter 
to  his  tailor.  He  served  emotions  that  he  did 
not  feel ;  it  is  a  not  uncommon  lot. 

Lynborough's  passing  and  repassing  to 
and  from  his  bathing  were  uninterrupted 
next  morning.  Nab  Grange  seemed  wrapped 
in  slumber;  only  Goodenough  saw  him, 
and  Goodenough  did  not  think  it  advisable 
to  interrupt  his  ordinary  avocations.  But 
an  air  of  constraint  —  even  of  mystery  — 
marked  both  Stabb  and  Roger  at  breakfast. 
The  cricket  match  was  naturally  the  topic  — 
though  Stabb  declared  that  he  took  little 
interest  in  it  and  should  probably  not  be 
there. 

"There'll  be  some  lunch,  I  suppose," 
said  Lynborough  carelessly.  "You'd  better 
have  lunch  there  —  it'd  be  dull  for  you  all 
by  yourself  here,  Cromlech." 

After  apparent  consideration  Stabb  con- 

[  156  ] 


Lynborough  Drops  a  Catch 
ceded  that  he  might  take  kincheon  on  the 
cricket  ground;  Roger,  as  a  member  of  the 
Fillby  team,  would,  of  course,  do  Hkewise. 
The  game  was  played  in  a  large  field, 
pleasantly  surrounded  by  a  belt  of  trees,  and 
lying  behind  the  Lynborough  Arms.  Be- 
sides Roger  and  Lynborough,  Stillford  and 
Irons  represented  Fillby.  Easthorpe  Poly- 
technic came  in  full  force,  save  for  an  um- 
pire. Colonel  Wenman,  who  had  walked 
up  with  his  friends,  was  pressed  into  this 
honorable  and  responsible  service,  landlord 
Dawson  officiating  at  the  other  end.  Lyn- 
borough's  second  gardener,  a  noted  fast 
bowler,  was  Fillby 's  captain;  Easthorpe  was 
under  the  command  of  a  curate  who  had 
played  several  times  for  his  University, 
although  he  had  not  actually  achieved  his 
"blue."  Easthorpe  won  the  toss  and  took 
first  innings. 

[157] 


Helena  s  Path 
The  second  gardener,  aware  of  his  em- 
ployer's turn  of  speed,  sent  Lord  Lynbor- 
ough  to  field  "in  the  country."  That  gentle- 
man was  well  content;  few  balls  came  his 
way  and  he  was  at  leisure  to  contemplate 
the  exterior  of  the  luncheon  tent  —  he  had 
already  inspected  the  interior  thereof  with 
sedulous  care  and  high  contentment  —  and 
to  speculate  on  the  probable  happenings  of 
the  luncheon  hour.  So  engrossed  was  he 
that  only  a  rapturous  cheer,  which  rang  out 
from  the  field  and  the  spectators,  apprised 
him  of  the  fact  that  the  second  gardener  had 
yorked  the  redoubtable  curate  with  the 
first  ball  of  his  second  over!  Young  Wood- 
well  came  in;  he  was  known  as  a  mighty 
hitter ;  Lynborough  was  signaled  to  take  his 
position  yet  deeper  in  the  field.  Young 
Woodwell  immediately  got  to  business  — 
but  he  kept  the  ball  low.  Lynborough  had, 

[158] 


Lyiihorough  Droj^s  a  Catch 
however,  the  satisfaction  of  saving  several 
"boundaries."  Roger,  keeping  wicket,  ob- 
served his  chief's  exertions  with  some  satis- 
faction. Other  wickets  fell  rapidly  —  but 
young  Woodwell's  score  rapidly  mounted 
up.  If  he  could  stay  in,  they  would  make 
a  hundred  —  and  Fillby  looked  with  just 
apprehension  on  a  score  like  that.  The 
second  gardener,  who  had  given  himself  a 
brief  rest,  took  the  ball  again  with  an  air 
of  determination. 

"Peters  doesn't  seem  to  remember  that  I 
also  bowl,"  reflected  Lord  Lynborough. 

The  next  moment  he  was  glad  of  this 
omission.  Young  Woodwell  was  playing 
for  safety  now  —  his  fifty  loomed  ahead ! 
Lynborough  had  time  for  a  glance  round. 
He  saw  Stabb  saunter  on  to  the  field;  then  — 
just  behind  where  he  stood  when  the  second 
gardener  was  bowling  from  the  Lynborough 

[159] 


Helena's  Path 
Arms  end  of  the  field  —  a  wagonette  drove 
up.  Four  ladies  descended.  A  bench  was 
placed  at  theb  disposal,  and  the  two  men- 
servants  at  once  began  to  make  preparations 
for  lunch,  aided  therein  by  the  ostler  from 
the  Lynborough  Arms,  who  rigged  up  a 
table  on  trestles  under  a  spreading  tree. 

Lord  Lynborough's  reputation  as  a  sports- 
man inevitably  suffers  from  this  portion  of 
the  narrative.  Yet  extenuating  circumstances 
may  fairly  be  pleaded.  He  was  deeply  in- 
terested in  the  four  ladies  who  sat  behind 
him  on  the  bench;  he  was  vitally  concerned 
in  the  question  of  the  lunch.  As  he  walked 
back,  between  the  overs,  to  his  position,  he 
could  see  that  places  were  being  set  for  some 
half-dozen  people.  Would  there  be  half-a- 
dozen  there  ?  As  he  stood,  watching,  or 
trying  to  watch,  young  Woodwell's  danger- 
ous bat,  he  overheard  fragments  of  conver- 

[160] 


Lynhoroucjh  Drojjs  a  Catch 
sation  wafted  from  the  bench.  The  ladies 
were  too  far  from  him  to  allow  of  their 
faces  being  clearly  seen,  but  it  was  not  hard 
to  recognize  their  figures. 

The  last  man  in  had  joined  young  Wood- 
well.  That  hero's  score  was  forty-eight,  the 
total  ninety-three.  The  second  gardener  was 
tempting  the  Easthorpe  champion  with  an 
occasional  slow  ball;  up  to  now  young 
Woodwell  had  declined  to  hit  at  these  de- 
ceivers. 

Suddenly  Lynborough  heard  the  ladies' 
voices  quite  plainly.  They  —  or  some  of  them 
—  had  left  the  bench  and  come  nearer  to 
the  boundary.  Irresistibly  drawn  by  curi- 
osity, for  an  instant  he  turned  his  head.  At 
the  same  instant  the  second  gardener  de- 
livered a  slow  ball  —  a  specious  ball.  This 
time  young  Woodwell  fell  into  the  snare. 
He  jumped  out  and  opened  his  shoulders  to 

[IGl] 


Helena  s  Path 
it.  He  hit  it  —  but  he  hit  it  into  the  air.  It 
soared  over  the  bowler's  head  and  came 
travehng     through     high     heaven     toward 
Lord   Lynborough. 

"Look  out!"  cried  the  second  gardener. 
Lynborough 's  head  spun  round  again  — 
but  his  nerves  were  shaken.  His  eyes  seemed 
rather  in  the  back  of  his  head,  trying  to  see 
the  Marchesa's  face,  than  fixed  on  the  ball 
that  was  coming  toward  him.  He  was  in  no 
mood  for  bringing  off  a  safe  catch ! 

Silence  reigned,  the  ball  began  to  drop. 
Lynborough  had  an  instant  to  wait  for  it. 
He  tried  to  think  of  the  ball  and  the  ball  only. 

It  fell  —  it  fell  into  his  hands ;  he  caught  it 
—  fumbled  it  —  caught  it  —  fumbled  it 
again  —  and  at  last  dropped  it  on  the  grass ! 
*'Oh!"  went  in  a  long-drawn  expostulation 
round  the  field;  and  Lynborough  heard  a 
voice  say  plainly: 

[162] 


Lynborough  Drofs  a  Catch 

"Who  is  that  stupid  clumsy  man?"  The 
voice  was  the  Marchesa's. 

He  wheeled  round  sharply  —  but  her 
back  was  turned.  He  had  not  seen  her  face 
after  all! 

"Over!"  was  called.  Lynborough  apolo- 
gized abjectly  to  the  second  gardener. 

"The  sun  was  in  my  eyes,  Peters,  and 
dazzled  me,"  he  pleaded. 

"  Looks  to  me  as  if  the  sun  was  shining  the 
other  way,  my  lord,"  said  Peters  dryly.  And 
so,  in  physical  fact,  it  was. 

In  Peters*  next  over  Lynborough  atoned 
• —  for  young  Woodwell  had  got  his  fifty 
and  grown  reckless.  A  one-handed  catch, 
wide  on  his  left  side,  made  the  welkin  ring 
with  applause.  The  luncheon  bell  rang  too  — 
for  the  innings  was  finished.  Score  101. 
Last  man  out  52.  Jim  (office-boy  at  Poly- 
technic) not  out  0.  Young  Woodwell  received 

[163] 


Helena's  Path 
a  merited  ovation  —  and  Lord  Lynborough 
hurried  to  the  luncheon  tent.  The  Mar- 
chesa,  with  an  exceedingly  dignified  mien, 
repaired  to  her  table  under  the  spreading 
oak. 

Mr.  Dawson  had  done  himself  more  than 
justice;  the  repast  was  magnificent.  When 
Stillford  and  Irons  saw  it,  they  became  more 
sure  than  ever  what  their  duty  was,  more 
convinced  still  that  the  Marchesa  would 
understand.  Colonel  Wenman  became  less 
sure  what  his  duty  was  —  previously  it  had 
appeared  to  him  that  it  was  to  lunch  with 
the  Marchesa.  But  the  Marchesa  had 
spoken  of  a  few  sandwiches  and  perhaps  a 
bottle  of  claret.  Stillford  told  him  that,  as 
umpire,  he  ought  to  lunch  with  the  teams. 
Irons  declared  it  would  look  "  deuced  stand- 
offish" if  he  didn't.  Lynborough,  who  ap- 
peared  to   act   as   deputy-landlord   to   Mr. 

[164] 


Lynhorough  Drops  a  Catch 
Dawson,  pressed  him  into  a  chair  witli  a 
friendly  hand. 

"Well,  she'll  have  the  ladies  with  her, 
won't  she?"  said  the  Colonel,  his  last 
scruple  vanishing  before  a  large  jug  of  hock- 
cup,  artfully  iced.  The  Nab  Grange  con- 
tingent fell  to. 

Just  then  —  when  they  were  irrevocably 
committed  to  this  feast  —  the  flap  of  the 
tent  was  drawn  back,  and  Lady  Norah's 
face  appeared.  Behind  her  stood  Violet  and 
Miss  Gilletson.  Lynborough  ran  forward 
to  meet  them. 

"Here  we  are.  Lord  Lynborough,"  said 
Norah.  "The  Marchesa  was  so  kind,  she 
told  us  to  do  just  as  we  liked,  and  we  thought 
it  would  be  such  fun  to  lunch  with  the 
cricketers." 

"The  cricketers  are  immensely  honored. 
Let  me  introduce  you  to  our  captain,  Mr. 

[1C5] 


Helena  s  Path 
Peters.  You  must  sit  by  him,  you  know. 
And,  Miss  Dufaure,  will  you  sit  by  Mr. 
Jeffreys  ?  —  he's  their  captain  —  Miss  Du- 
faure  —  Mr.  Jeffreys.  You,  Miss  Gilletson, 
must  sit  between  Mr.  Dawson  and  me. 
Now  we're  right  —  \Miat,  Colonel  Wen- 
man  ?  —  Wliat's    the    matter  ?^* 

Wenman  had  risen  from  his  place.  "The 
—  the  Marchesa!"  he  said.  "We  —  we 
can't   leave   her   to   lunch   alone!" 

Lady  Norah  broke  in  again.  "  Oh,  Helena 
expressly  said  that  she  didn't  expect  the 
gentlemen.  She  knows  what  the  custom  is, 
you  see." 

The  Marchesa  had,  no  doubt,  made  all 
these  speeches.  It  may,  however,  be  doubted 
whether  Norah  reproduced  exactly  the  man- 
ner, and  the  spirit,  in  which  she  made 
them.  But  the  iced  hock-cup  settled  the 
Colonel.  With  a  relieved  sigh  he  resumed 

i;i66] 


Lynhorough  Drops  a  Catch 
his  place.  The  business  of  the  moment  went 
on  briskly  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Mr.  Dawson  rose,  glass  in  hand.  "  Ladies 
and  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "I'm  no  hand  at  a 
speech,  but  I  give  you  the  health  of  our  kind 
neighbor  and  good  host  to-day  —  Lord 
Lynborough.  Here's  to  his  lordship!" 

"I  —  I  didn't  know  he  was  giving  the 
lunch!"  whispered  Colonel  Wenman. 

"Is  it  his  lunch?"  said  Irons,  nudging 
Stillford. 

Stillford  laughed.  "It  looks  like  it.  And 
we  can  hardly  throw  him  over  the  hedge 
after  this!" 

"  Well,  he  seems  to  be  a  jolly  good  chap," 
said  Captain  Irons. 

Lynborough  bowed  his  acknowledgments, 
and  flirted  with  Miss  Gillctson;  his  face  wore 
a  contented  smile.  Here  they  all  wxre  —  and 
the  Marchesa  lunched  alone  on  the  other 

[167] 


Helena's  Path 
side  of  the  field!  Here  indeed  was  a  new 
wedge!  Here  was  the  isolation  at  which  his 
diabolical  schemes  had  aimed.  He  had  cap- 
tured Nab  Grange!  Bag  and  baggage  they 
had  come  over  —  and  left  their  chief tainess 
deserted. 

Then  suddenly  —  in  the  midst  of  his 
triumph  —  in  the  midst  too  of  a  certain  not 
ungenerous  commiseration  which  he  felt 
that  he  could  extend  to  a  defeated  enemy 
and  to  beauty  in  distress  —  he  became 
vaguely  aware  of  a  gap  in  his  company. 
Stabb  was  not  there!  Yet  Stabb  had  come 
upon  the  ground.  He  searched  the  company 
again.  No,  Stabb  was  not  there.  Moreover 
—  a  fact  the  second  search  revealed  — 
Roger  Wilbraham  was  not  there.  Roger 
was  certainly  not  there ;  yet,  whatever  Stabb 
might  do,  Roger  would  never  miss  lunch ! 

Lynborough's  eyes  grew  thoughtful;  he 

[168] 


Lynborovgh  Drops  a  Catch 
pursed  up  his  lips.  Miss  Gilletson  noticed 
that  he  became  silent. 

He  could  bear  the  suspense  no  longer. 
On  a  pretext  of  looking  for  more  bottled 
beer,  he  rose  and  walked  to  the  door  of  the 
tent. 

Under  the  spreading  tree  the  Marchesa 
lunched  —  not  in  isolation,  not  in  gloom. 
She  had  company  —  and,  even  as  he  aj>- 
peared,  a  merry  peal  of  laughter  was  wafted 
by  a  favoring  breeze  across  the  field  of 
battle.  Stabb's  ponderous  figure,  Roger 
Wilbraham's  highly  recognizable  "blazer,'* 
told  the  truth  plainly. 

Lord  Lynborough  was  not  the  only  expert 
in  the  art  of  driving  wedges! 

"Well  played,  Helena!"  he  said  under  his 
breath. 

The  rest  of  the  cricket  match  interested 
him    very    liltlo.    Successful    beyond    their 

[169] 


Helena's  Path 
expectations,  Fillby  won  by  five  runs  (Wil- 
braliam  not  out  thirty-seven)  —  but  Lyn- 
borough's  score  did  not  swell  the  victorious 
total.  In  Easthorpe's  second  innings  — 
which  could  not  affect  the  result  —  Peters 
let  him  bowl,  and  he  got  young  Woodwell's 
wicket.  That  was  a  distinction;  yet,  looking 
at  the  day  as  a  whole,  he  had  scored  less 
than  he  expected. 


[170] 


Chaijtcr  Ten 

IN   THE    LAST   RESORT ! 

It  will  have  been  perceived  by  now  that  Lord 
Lynborough  delighted  in  a  fight.  He  revelled 
in  being  opposed;  the  man  who  withstood 
him  to  the  face  gave  him  such  pleasure  as  to 
beget  in  his  mind  certainly  gratitude,  per- 
haps affection,  or  at  least  a  predisposition 
thereto.  There  was  nothing  he  liked  so  much 
as  an  even  battle  —  unless,  by  chance,  it  w^ere 
the  scales  seeming  to  incline  a  little  against 
him.  Then  his  spirits  rose  highest,  his  courage 
was  most  buoyant,  his  kindliness  most  sunny. 
The  benefit  of  this  disposition  accrued  to 
the  Marchesa;  for  by  her  sudden  counter- 
attach  she  had  at  least  redressed  the  balance 

[171] 


Helena's  Path 
of  the  campaign.  He  could  not  be  sure  that 
she  had  not  done  more.  The  ladies  of  her 
party  were  his  —  he  reckoned  confidently 
on  that;  but  the  men  he  could  not  count 
as  more  than  neutral  at  the  best;  Wenman, 
anyhow,  could  easily  be  whistled  back  to  the 
Marchesa's  heel.  But  in  his  own  house,  he 
admitted  at  once,  she  had  secured  for  him 
open  hostility,  for  herself  the  warmest  of 
partisanship.  The  meaning  of  her  lunch  was 
too  plain  to  doubt.  No  wonder  her  opposi- 
tion to  her  own  deserters  had  been  so  faint; 
no  wonder  she  had  so  readily,  even  if  so 
scornfully,  afforded  them  the  pretext  —  the 
barren  verbal  permission  —  that  they  had 
required.  She  had  not  wanted  thetn  —  no, 
not  even  the  Colonel  himself!  She  had 
wanted  to  be  alone  with  Roger  and  with 
Stabb  —  and  to  complete  the  work  of  her 
blandishments   on    those   guileless,    tender- 

[172] 


In  the  Last  Resort ! 
hearted,    and    susceptible    persons.     Lyn- 
borough  admired,  applauded,  and  promised 
himself  considerable  entertainment  at  din- 
ner. 

How  was  the  Marchesa,  in  her  turn, 
bearing  her  domestic  isolation,  the  internal 
disaffection  at  Nab  Grange  ?  He  flattered 
himself  that  she  would  not  be  finding  in  it 
such  pleasure  as  his  whimsical  temper 
reaped  from  the  corresponding  position  of 
affairs  at  Scarsmoor. 

There  he  was  right.  At  Nab  Grange  the 

atmosphere  was  not  cheerful.  Not  to  want  a 

thing  by  no  means   implies   an   admission 

that  you  do  not  want  it;  that  is  elementary 

diplomacy.  Rather  do  you  insist  that  you 

want  it  very  much;  if  you  do  not  get  it, 

there  is  a  grievance  —  and  a  grievance  is  a 

mighty  handy  article  of  barter.  The  INIar- 

chesa  knew  all  that. 

[173] 


Helena  s  Path 
The  deserters  were  severely  lashed.  The 
Marchesa  had  said  that  she  did  not  expect 
Colonel  Wenman;  ought  she  to  have  sent  a 
message  to  say  that  she  was  pining  for  him  — 
must  that  be  wrung  from  her  before  he  would 
condescend  to  come  ?  She  had  said  that  she 
knew  the  custom  with  regard  to  lunch  at 
cricket  matches;  was  that  to  say  that  she 
expected  it  to  be  observed  to  her  manifest 
and  public  humiliation  ?  She  had  told  Miss 
Gilletson  and  the  girls  to  please  themselves; 
of  course  she  wished  them  to  do  that  always. 
Yet  it  might  be  a  wound  to  find  that  their 
pleasure   lay   in    abandoning    their    friend 
and  hostess,  in   consorting  with   her  arch- 
enemy, and  giving  him  a  triumph. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  about  Wilbraham 
and  Stabb?"  cried  the  trampled  Colonel. 

"I  say  that  they're  gentlemen,"  retorted 
the  Marchesa.  "They  saw  the  position  I 

[174] 


In  the  Last  Resort ! 
was  in  —  an  '   they  saved  me  from  humil- 
iation." 

That  was  enough  for  the  men;  men  are, 
after  all,  poor  fighters.  It  was  not,  however, 
enough  for  Lady  Norah  Mountliffey  —  a 
woman  —  and    an    Irishwoman    to    boot ! 

"Ai-e  you  really  asking  us  to  believe  that 
you  hadn't  arranged  it  with  them  before- 
hand.^"   she    inquired    scornfully. 

"Oh,  I  don't  ask  you  to  believe  anything 
I  say,"  returned  the  Marchesa,  dexterously 
avoiding  saying  anything  on  the  point 
suggested. 

"The  truth  is,  you're  being  very  absurd, 
Helena,"  Norah  pursued.  "If  you've  got  a 
right,  go  to  law  with  Lord  Lynborough  and 
make  him  respect  it.  If  you  haven't  got  a 
right,  why  go  on  making  yourself  ridiculous 
and  all  the  rest  of  us  very  uncomfortable  ?" 

It  was  obvious  that  the  INIarchcsa  might 

[175] 


Helena  s  Path 
reply  that  any  guest  of  hers  who  felt  himself 
or  herself  uncomfortable  at  Nab  Grange 
had,  in  his  or  her  own  hand,  the  easy  remedy. 
She  did  not  do  that.  She  did  a  thing  more 
disconcerting  still.  Though  the  mutton  had 
only  just  been  put  on  the  table,  she  pushed 
back  her  chair,  rose  to  her  feet,  and  fled  from 
the  room  very  hastily. 

Miss  Gilletson  sprang  up.  But  Noran  was 
beforehand  with  her. 

"No!  I  said  it.  I'm  the  one  to  go.  Who 
could  think  she'd  take  it  like  that  ?"  Norah's 
own  blue  eyes  were  less  bright  than  usual  as 
she  hurried  after  her  wounded  friend.  The 
rest  ate  on  in  dreary  conscience-stricken 
silence.  At  last  Stillford  spoke. 

"Don't  urge  her  to  go  to  law,"  he  said. 
"I'm  pretty  sure  she'd  be  beaten." 

"  Then  she  ought  to  give  in  —  and  apol- 
ogize   to    Lord    Lynborough,"   said    Miss 

[176] 


In  the  Last  Resort ! 
Gilletson  decisively.  "  That  would  be  right  — 
and,  I  will  add,  Christian." 

"Humble  Pie  ain't  very  good  eating," 
commented  Captain  Irons 

Neither  the  Marchesa  nor  Norah  came 
back.  The  meal  wended  along  its  slow  and 
melancholy  course  to  a  mirthless  weary 
conclusion.  Colonel  Wenman  began  to  look 
on  the  repose  of  bachelorhood  with  a  kinder 
eye,  on  its  loneliness  with  a  more  tolerant 
disposition.  lie  went  so  far  as  to  remember 
that,  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  he  had 
another  invitation  for  the  following  week. 

The  Spirit  of  Discord  (The  tragic  at- 
mosphere now  gathering  justifies  these  fig- 
ures of  speech  —  the  chronicler  must  rise 
to  the  occasion  of  a  heroine  in  tears),  having 
wrought  her  fell  work  at  Nab  Grange,  now 
winged  her  way  to  the  towers  of  Scarsmoor 
Castle. 

[177] 


Helena  s  Path 
Dinner  had  passed  off  quite  as  Lynbor- 
ough  anticipated;  he  had  enjoyed  himself 
exceedingly.  Whenever  the  temporary  ab- 
sence of  the  servants  allowed,  he  had  rallied 
his  friends  on  their  susceptibility  to  beauty, 
on  their  readiness  to  fail  him  under  its  lures, 
on  their  clumsy  attempts  at  concealment 
of  their  growing  intimacy,  and  their  con- 
fidential relations,  with  the  fascinating  mis- 
tress of  Nab  Grange.  He  too  had  been  told 
to  take  his  case  into  the  Courts  or  to  drop 
his  claim  —  and  had  laughed  triumphantly 
at  the  advice.  He  had  laughed  when  Stabb 
said  that  he  really  could  not  pursue  his  work 
in  the  midst  of  such  distractions,  that  his 
mind  was  too  perturbed  for  scientific  thought. 
He  had  laughed  lightly  and  good-humoredly 
even  when  (as  they  were  left  alone  over 
coffee)  Roger  Wilbraham,  going  suddenly 
a  little  white,  said  he  thought  that  persecut- 

[178] 


In  the  Last  Resort ! 
ing  a  lady  was  no  fit  amusement  for  a  gentle- 
man. Lynborough  did  not  suppose  that  the 
Marchesa  —  with  the  battle  of  the  day  at 
least  drawn,  if  not  decided  in  her  favor  — 
could  be  regarded  as  the  subject  of  perse- 
cution —  and  he  did  recognize  that  young 
fellows,  under  certain  spells,  spoke  hotly 
and  were  not  to  be  held  to  serious  account. 
He  was  smiling  still  when,  with  a  forced 
remark  about  the  heat,  the  pair  went  out 
together  to  smoke  on  the  terrace.  He  had 
some  letters  to  read,  and  for  the  moment 
dismissed  the  matter  from  his  mind. 

In  ten  minutes  young  Roger  Wilbraham 
returned;  his  manner  was  quiet  now,  but 
his  face  still  rather  pale.  He  came  up  to  the 
table  by  which  Lynborough  sat. 

"  Holding  the  position  I  do  in  your  house, 
Lord  Lynborough,"  he  said, /'I  had  no 
right  to  use  the  words  I  used  this  evening  at 

[  179  f 


Helena's  Path 
dinner.  I  apologize  for  them.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  have  no  wish  to  hold  a  posi- 
tion which  prevents  me  from  using  those 
words  when  they  represent  what  I  think.  I 
beg  you  to  accept  my  resignation,  and  I  shall 
be  greatly  obliged  if  you  can  arrange  to  re- 
lieve me  of  my  duties  as  soon  as  possible." 

Lynborough  heard  him  without  interrup- 
tion; with  grave  impassive  face,  with  sur- 
prise, pity,  and  a  secret  amusement.  Even 
if  he  were  right,  he  was  so  solemn  over  it ! 

The  young  man  waited  for  no  answer. 
With  the  merest  indication  of  a  bow,  he  left 
Lynborough  alone,  and  passed  on  into  the 
house. 

"Well,  now!"  said  Lord  Lynborough, 
rising  and  lighting  a  cigar.  "This  Marchesa! 
Well,  now!" 

Stabb's  heavy  form  came  lumbering  in 
from  the  terrace;  he  seemed  to  move  more 

[180] 


In  the  Last  Resort ! 
heavily  than  ever,  as  though  his  bulk  were 
even  unusually  inert.  He  plumped  down  into 
a   chair   and   looked   up   at   Lynborough's 
graceful  figure. 

"  I  meant  what  I  said  at  dinner,  Ambrose. 
I  wasn't  joking,  though  I  suppose  you 
thought  I  was.  All  this  affair  may  amuse  you 
—  it  worries  me.  I  can't  settle  to  work.  If 
you'll  be  so  kind  as  to  send  me  over  to  Eas- 
thorpe  to-morrow,  I'll  be  off  —  back  to 
Oxford." 

Cromlech,  old  boy !" 
Yes,  I  know.  But  I  —  I  don't  want  to 
stay,    Ambrose.    I'm    not  —  comfortable." 
His  great  face  set  in  a  heavy,  disconsolate, 
wrinkled  frown. 

Lord  Lynborough  pursed  his  lips  in  a 
momentary  whistle,  then  put  his  cigar  back 
into  his  mouth,  and  walked  out  on  to  the 
terrace. 

fl81} 


<< 


«' 


Helena  s  Path 

"This  Marchesa!"  said  he  again.  "This 
very  remarkable  Marchesa!  Her  riposte  is 
admirable.  Really  I  venture  to  hope  that  I, 
in  my  turn,  have  very  seriously  disturbed 
her  household!" 

He  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  terrace,  and 
stood  there  musing.  Sandy  Nab  loomed  up, 
dimly  the  sea  rose  and  fell,  twinkled  and 
sank  into  darkness.  It  talked  too  —  talked  to 
Lynborough  with  a  soft,  low,  quiet  voice;  it 
seemed  (to  his  absurdly  whimsical  imagina- 
tion) as  though  some  lovely  woman  gently 
stroked  his  brow  and  whispered  to  him. 
He  liked  to  encourage  such  freaks  of  fancy. 

Cromlech  couldn't  go.  That  was  absurd. 

And  the  young  fellow  ?  So  much  a  gentle- 
man! Lynborough  had  liked  the  terms  of 
his  apology  no  less  than  the  firmness  of  his 
protest.  *'  It's  the  first  time,  I  think,  that  I've 
been  told  that  I'm  no  gentleman,'*  he  re- 

[182] 


In  the  Last  Resort  I 
flccled  with  amusement.  But  Roger  had 
been  pale  when  he  said  it.  Imaginatively 
Lynborough  assumed  his  place.  "A  brave 
boy,"  he  said.  "And  that  dear  old  knight- 
errant  of  a  Cromlech!" 

A  space  —  room  indeed  and  room  enough 
—  for  the  softer  emotions  —  so  much  Lyn- 
borough was  ever  inclined  to  allow.  But  to 
acquiesce  in  this  state  of  things  as  final  — 
that  was  to  admit  defeat  at  the  hands  of  the 
Marchesa.  It  was  to  concede  that  one  day 
had  changed  the  whole  complexion  of  the 
fight. 

"  Cromlech  sha'n't  go  —  the  boy  sha'n't 
go  —  and  I'll  still  use  the  path,"  he  thought. 
"Not  that  I  really  care  about  the  path,  you 
know."  He  paused.  "Well,  yes,  I  do  care 
about  it  —  for  bathing  in  the  morning." 
He  hardened  his  heart  against  the  Marchesa. 
She  chose  to  fight;  the  fortune  of  war  must 

[183] 


Helena  s  Path 
be  hers.  He  turned  his  eyes  down  to  Nab 
Grange.  Lights  burned  there  —  were  her 
guests  demanding  to  be  sent  to  Easthorpe  ? 
Why,  no!  As  he  looked,  Lynborough  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  she  had  reduced  them 
all  to  order  —  that  they  would  be  whipped 
back  to  heel  —  that  his  manoeuvers  (and 
his  lunch!)  had  probably  been  wasted. 
He    was    beaten    then  ? 

He  scorned  the  conclusion.  But  if  he  were 
not  —  the  result  was  deadlock !  Then  still 
he  was  beaten ;  for  unless  Helena  (he  called 
her  that)  owned  his  right,  his  right  was  to 
him  as  nothing. 

"I  have  made  myself  a  champion  of  my 
sex,"  he  said.  "Shall  I  be  beaten?" 

In  that  moment  —  with  all  the  pang  of 
forsaking  an  old  conviction  —  of  disowning 
that  stronger  tie,  the  loved  embrace  of  an 
ancient  and  perversely  championed  prejudice 

[184] 


In  llie  Last  Resort ! 

—  he  declared  that  any  price  must  be  paid 
for  victory. 

"Heaven  forgive  me,  but,  sooner  than  be 
beaten,  I'll  go  to  law  with  her !"  he  cried. 
A  face  appeared  from  between  two  bushes 

—  a  voice  spoke  from  the  edge  of  the  terrace. 
"I  thought  you  might  be  interested  to 

hear " 

"Lady  Norah.?" 

"  Yes,  it's  me  —  to  hear  that  you've  made 
her  cry  —  and  very  bitterly. " 


[185] 


Chapter  Eleven 

AN   ARMISTICE 

Lord  Lynborough  walked  down  to  the  edge 
of  the  terrace;  Lady  Norah  stood  half  hid- 
den in  the  shrubbery. 

*'And  that,  I  suppose,  ought  to  end  the 
matter?"  he  asked.  "I  ought  at  once  to 
abandon  all  my  pretensions  and  to  give  up 
my  path  ?^' 

"I  just  thought  you  might  Uke  to  know 
it,"  said  Norah. 

"  Actually  I  believe  I  do  like  to  know  it  — • 
though  what  Roger  would  say  to  me  about 
that  I  really  can't  imagine.  You're  mis- 
taking my  character.  Lady  Norah.  I'm  not 
the  hero  of  this  piece.  There  are  several 

[186] 


An  Armistice 
gentlemen  from  among  whom  you  can  choose 
one  for  that  effective  part.  Lots  of  candidates 
for  it!  But  I'm  the  villain.  Consequently 
you  must  be  prepared  for  my  receiving 
your  news  with  devilish  glee." 

"Well,  "ou  haven't  seen  it  —  and  I 
have." 

"Well  put!"  he  allowed.  "How  did  it 
happen  ?" 

"Over  something  I  said  to  her  —  some- 
thing horrid." 

"  Well,  then,  why  am  I —  ?"  Lynborough's 
hands  expostulated  eloquently. 

"  But  you  were  the  real  reason,  of  course. 
She  thinks  you've  turned  us  all  against  her; 
she  says  it's  so  mean  to  get  her  own  friends  to 
turn  against  her." 

"Does  she  now?"  asked  Lord  Lynbor- 
ough  with  a  thoughtful  smile. 

Norah  too  smiled  faintly.  "  She  says  she's 

[187] 


Helena  s  Path 
not  angry  with  us  —  she's  just  sorry  for  us 

—  because  she  understands " 

"What?" 

"  I  mean  she  says  she  —  she  can  imagine 

—  "  Norah's  smile  grew  a  httle  more 
pronounced.  "I'm  not  sure  she'd  hke  me 
to  repeat  that,"  said  Norah.  "And  of  course 
she  doesn't  know  I'm  here  at  all  —  and  you 
must  never  tell  her." 

"  Of  course  it's  all  my  fault.  Still,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  curiosity,  what  did  you  say  to  her  ?" 

"I  said  that,  if  she  had  a  good  case,  she 
ought  to  go  to  law;  and,  if  she  hadn't,  she 
ought  to  stop  making  herself  ridiculous  and 
the  rest  of  us  uncomfortable." 

"  You  spoke  with  the  general  assent  of  the 
company .?" 

"I  said  what  I  thought  —  yes,  I  think 
they  all  agreed  —  but  she  took  it  —  well, 
in  the  way  I've  told  you,  you  know." 

[188] 


An  Armistice 

Lady  Norah  had,  in  the  course  of  conver- 
sation, insensibly  advanced  on  to  the  ter- 
race. She  stood  there  now  beside  Lyn- 
borough. 

"How  do  you  think  I'm  taking  it?"  he 
asked.  "  Doesn't  my  fortitude  wring  applause 
from  you  .^" 

"Taking  what?" 

"Exactly  the  same  thing  from  my 
friends.  They  tell  me  to  go  to  law  if  I've 
got  a  case  —  and  at  any  rate  to  stop  per- 
secuting a  lady.  And  they've  both  given  me 


warning." 


"  Mr.  Stabb  and  Mr.  Wilbraham  ?  They're 
going  away  ?" 

"  So  it  appears.  Carry  back  those  tidings. 
Won't  they  dry  the  Marchesa's  tears  ?" 

Norah  looked  at  him  with  a  smile.  "  Well, 
it  is  pretty  clever  of  her,  isn't  it  ?"  she  said. 
"I  didn't  think  she'd  got  along  as  quickly 

[189] 


Helena^ s  Path 
as  that!"  Norah's  voice  was  full  of  an  honest 
and  undisguised  admiration. 

"It's  a  little  unreasonable  of  her  to  cry 
under  the  circumstances.  I'm  not  crying, 
Lady  Norah." 

"  I  expect  you're  rather  disgusted,  though, 
aren't  you.^"  she  suggested. 

"  I'm  a  little  vexed  at  having  to  surrender 
—  for  the  moment  —  a  prmciple  which  I've 
held  dear  —  at  having  to  give  my  enemies  an 
occasion  for  mockery.  But  I  must  bow  to 
my  friends'  wishes.  I  can't  lose  them  under 
such  painful  circumstances.  No,  I  must 
yield.  Lady  Norah." 

"You're  going  to  give  up  the  path  ?"  she 
cried,  not  sure  whether  she  were  pleased  or 
not  with  his  determination. 

"Dear  me,  no!  I'm  going  to  law  about 
it." 

Open  dismay  was  betrayed  in  her  excia- 

[190] 


An  Armistice 
mation:  "Oh,  but  what  will  Mr.  Stillford 
say  to  that  ?" 

Lynborough  laughed.  Norali  saw  her  mis- 
take —  but  she  made  no  attempt  to  remedy 
it.  She  took  up  another  line  of  tactics.  "It 
would  all  come  right  if  only  you  knew  one 
another!  She's  the  most  w^onderful  woman 
in  the  world.  Lord  Lynborough.  And 
you " 

"Well,  what  of  me  ?"  he  asked  in  deceit- 
ful gravity. 

Norah  parried,  with  a  hasty  little  laugh; 
"Just  ask  Miss  Gilletson  that!" 

Lynborough  smiled  for  a  moment,  then 
took  a  turn  along  the  terrace,  and  came 
back  to  her. 

"You  must  tell  her  that  you've  seen  me 


>» 


"I  couldn't  do  that!" 
"  You  must  —  or  here  the  matter  ends, 

5161] 


Helena's  Path 
and  I  shall  be  forced  to  go  to  law  —  ugh  1 
Tell  her  you've  seen  me,  and  that  I'm  open 
to  reason '' 

"Lord  Lynborough!  How  can  I  tell  her 
that?" 

"That  I'm  open  to  reason,  and  that  I 
propose  an  armistice.  Not  peace  —  not 
yet,  anyhow  —  but  an  armistice.  I  under- 
take not  to  exercise  my  right  over  Beach 
Path  for  a  week  from  to-day,  and  before 
the  end  of  that  week  I  will  submit  a  pro- 
posal to  the  Marchesa." 

Norah  saw  a  gleam  of  hope.  "Very  well. 
I  don't  know  what  she'll  say  to  me,  but  I'll 
tell  her  that.  Thank  you.  You'll  make  it  a 
—  a  pleasant  proposal  .'^" 

"I  haven't  had  time  to  consider  the 
proposal  yet.  She  must  inform  me  to-mor- 
row morning  whether  she  accepts  the  ar- 
mistice." 

[192] 


An  Armistice 

He  suddenly  turned  to  the  house,  and 
shouted  up  to  a  window  above  his  head, 
"Roger!" 

The  window  was  open.  Roger  Wilbraham 
put  his  head  out. 

"  Come  down,"  said  Lynborough.  "  Here's 
somebody  wants  to  see  you." 

"I  never  said  I  did.  Lord  Lynborough." 

"  Let  him  take  you  home.  He  wants  cheer- 
ing up." 

"I  Hke  him  very  much.  He  won't  really 
leave  you,  will  he  ?'* 

"I  want  you  to  persuade  him  to  stay 
during  the  armistice.  I'm  too  proud  to  ask 
him  for  myself.  I  shall  think  very  little 
of  you,  however,  if  he  doesn't." 

Roger  appeared.  Lynborough  told  him 
that  Lady  Norah  required  an  escort  back  to 
Nab  Grange;  for  obvious  reasons  he  himself 
was    obliged    to    relinquish    the    pleasure; 

[193] 


Helena  s  Path 
Roger,  he  felt  sure,  would  be  charmed  to 
take  his  place.  Roger  was  somewhat  puzzled 
by  the  turn  of  events,  but  delighted  with  his 
mission. 

Lynborough  saw  them  off,  went  into  the 
library,  sat  down  at  his  writing-table,  and 
laid  paper  before  him.  But  he  sat  idle  for 
many  minutes.  Stabb  came  in,  his  arms  full 
of  books. 

"I  think  I  left  some  of  my  stuff  here," 
he  said,  avoiding  Lynborough's  eye.  "I'm 
just  getting  it  together." 

"Drop  that  lot  too.  You're  not  going  to- 
morrow. Cromlech,  there's  an  armistice." 

Stabb  put  his  books  down  on  the  table, 
and  came  up  to  him  with  outstretched  hand. 
Lynborough  leaned  back,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  head. 

"Wait  for  a  week,"  he  said.  "We  may. 
Cromlech,    arrive    at    an    accommodation. 

[194] 


An  Armistice 
Meanwhile,  for  that  week,  I  do  not  use  the 
path." 

"I've  been  feeUng  pretty  badly,  Ambrose. " 

"Yes,  I  don't  think  it's  safe  to  expose  you 
to  the  charms  of  beauty."  He  looked  at  his 
friend  in  good-natured  mockery.  "Return 
to  your  tombs   in  peace." 

The  next  morning  he  received  a  com- 
munication from  Nab  Grange.  It  ran  as 
follows : 

"The  Marchesa  di  San  Servolo  presents 
her  compliments  to  Lord  Lynborough.  The 
Marchesa  will  be  prepared  to  consider  any 
proposal  put  forward  by  Lord  Lynborough, 
and  will  place  no  hindrance  in  the  way 
of  Lord  Lynborough's  using  the  path  across 
her  property  if  it  suits  his  convenience  to 
do  so   in   the   meantime." 

"No,  no!"  said  Lynborough,  as  he  took  a 
sheet  of  paper. 

[195] 


Helena's  Path 
"Lord  Lynborough  presents  his  conipli- 
ments  to  her  Excellency  the  Marchesa  di 
San  Servolo.  Lord  Lynborough  will  take  an 
early  opportunity  of  submitting  his  proposal 
to  the  Marchesa  di  San  Servolo.  He  is 
obliged  for  the  Marchesa  di  San  Servolo 's 
suggestion  that  he  should  in  the  meantime 
use  Beach  Path,  but  cannot  consent  to  do 
so  except  in  the  exercise  of  his  right.  He 
will  therefore  not  use  Beach  Path  during 


the  ensuing  week. 


>> 


"And  now  to  pave  the  way  for  my  pro- 
posal!" he  thought.  For  the  proposal,  which 
had  assumed  a  position  so  important  in  the 
relations  between  the  Marchesa  and  himself, 
was  to  be  of  such  a  nature  that  a  grave 
question  arose  how  best  the  way  should  be 
paved  for  it. 

The  obvious  course  was  to  set  his  spies 
to   work  —  he    could    command   plenty   of 

[196] 


An  Armistice 
friendly  help  among  the  Nab  Grange  garri- 
son —  learn  the  Marchesa's  probable  move- 
ments, throw  himself  in  her  way,  contrive 
an  acquaintance,  make  himself  as  pleasant 
as  he  could,  establish  relations  of  amity,  of 
cordiality,  even  of  friendship  and  of  inti- 
macy. That  might  prepare  the  way,  and  incline 
her  to  accept  the  proposal  —  to  take  the 
jest  —  it  was  little  more  in  hard  reality  — 
in  the  spirit  in  which  he  put  it  forward, 
and  so  to  end  her  resistance. 

That  seemed  the  reasonable  method  — 
the  plain  and  rational  line  of  advance. 
Accordingly  Lynoorough  disliked  and  dis- 
trusted it.  He  saw  another  way  —  more  full 
of  risk,  more  hazardous  in  its  result,  making 
an  even  greater  demand  on  his  confidence  in 
himself,  perhaps  also  on  the  qualities  with 
which  his  imagination  credited  the  IVIar- 
chesa.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  this  alternative 

[197] 


Helena  s  Path 
was  far  richer  in  surprise,  in  dash  —  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  in  gallantry  and  a  touch  of 
romance.  It  was  far  more  medieval,  more 
picturesque,  more  in  keeping  with  the  actual 
proposal  itself.  For  the  actual  proposal  was 
one  which,  Lynborough  flattered  himself, 
might  well  have  come  from  a  powerful  yet 
chivalrous  baron  of  old  days  to  a  beautiful 
queen  who  claimed  a  suzerainty  which  not 
her  power,  but  only  her  beauty,  could  com- 
mand or  enforce. 

"It  suits  my  humor,  and  I'll  do  it!"  he 
said.  "She  sha'n't  see  me,  and  I  won't 
see  her.  The  first  she  shall  hear  from  me 
shall  be  the  proposal;  the  first  time  we 
meet  shall  be  on  the  twenty-fourth  —  or 
never!  A  week  from  to-day  —  the  twenty- 
fourth." 

Now  the  twenty-fourth  of  June  is,  as  all 
the  world  knows  (or  an  almanac  will  inform 

[198] 


An  Armistice 
the  heathen),  the  Feast  of  St.  John  Baptist 
also  called  Midsummer  Day. 

So  he  disappeared  from  the  view  of  Nab 
Grange  and  the  inhabitants  thereof.  He 
never  left  his  own  grounds;  even  within 
them  he  shunned  the  public  road;  his  be- 
loved sea-bathing  he  abandoned.  Nay,  more, 
he  strictly  charged  Roger  Wilbraham,  who 
often  during  this  week  of  armistice  went  to 
play  golf  or  tennis  at  the  Grange,  to  say 
nothing  of  him;  the  same  instructions  were 
laid  on  Stabb  in  case  on  his  excursions 
amidst  the  tombs,  he  should  meet  any 
member  of  the  INIarchesa's  party.  So  far  as 
the  thing  could  be  done,  Lord  Lynborough 
obliterated  himself. 

It  was  playing  a  high  stake  on  a  risky 
hand.  Plainly  it  assumed  an  interest  in  him- 
self on  the  part  of  the  Marches  a  —  an  in- 
terest so  strong  that  absence  and  mystery 

[  199  ] 


Helena  s  Path 
(if  perchance  he  achieved  a  flavor  of  that 
attraction!)  would  foster  and  nourish  it 
more  than  presence  and  friendship  could 
conduce  to  its  increase.  She  might  think 
nothing  about  him  during  the  week!  Im- 
possible surely  —  with  all  that  had  gone 
before,  and  with  his  proposal  to  come  at  the 
end !  But  if  it  were  so  —  why,  so  he  was 
content.  "  In  that  case,  she's  a  woman  of  no 
imagination,  of  no  taste  in  the  picturesque," 
he  said. 

For  five  days  the  Marchesa  gave  no  sign, 
no  clue  to  her  feelings  which  the  anxious 
watchers  could  detect.  She  did  indeed  suffer 
Colonel  Wenman  to  depart  all  forlorn,  most 
unsuccessful  and  uncomforted  —  save  by 
the  company  of  his  brother-in-arms,  Cap- 
tain Irons;  and  he  was  not  cheerful  either, 
having  failed  notably  in  certain  designs  on 

Miss  Dufaure  which  he  had  been  pursuing, 

[  200  ] 


An  Armistice 
but  whereunto  more  pressing  matters  have 
not  allowed  of  attention  being  given.  But 
Lord  Lynborough  she  never  mentioned  — 
not  to  Miss  Gilletson,  nor  even  to  Norah. 
She  seemed  to  have  regained  her  tranquillij:y ; 
her  wrath  at  least  was  over;  she  was  very 
friendly  to  all  the  ladies;  she  was  markedly 
cordial  to  Roger  Wilbraham  on  his  visits.' 
But  she  asked  him  nothing  of  Lord  Lyn- 
borough —  and,  if  she  ever  looked  from  the 
window  toward  Scarsmoor  Castle,  none 
—  not  even  her  observant  maid  —  saw  her 
do  it. 

Yet  Cupid  was  in  the  Grange  —  and  very 
busy.  There  were  signs,  not  to  be  misunder- 
stood, that  Violet  had  not  for  handsome 
Stillford  the  scorn  she  had  bestowed  on  un- 
fortunate Irons;  and  Roger,  humbly  and 
distantly  worshiping  the  Marchesa,  deem- 
ing her  far  as  a  queen  beyond  his  reach, 

|i201] 


Helena's  Path 
rested  his  eyes  and  solaced  his  spirit  with  the 
less  awe-inspiring  charms,  the  more  acces- 
sible comradeship,  of  Norah  Mountliffey. 
Norah,  as  her  custom  was,  flirted  hard,  yet 
in  her  delicate  fashion.  Though  she  had  not 
begun  to  ask  herself  about  the  end  yet, 
she  was  well  amused,  and  by  no  means  in- 
sensible to  Roger's  attractions.  Only  she 
was  preoccupied  with  Helena  —  and  Lord 
Lynborough.  Till  that  riddle  was  solved, 
she  could  not  turn  seriously  to  her  own 
affairs. 

On  the  night  of  the  twenty-second  she 
walked  with  the  Marchesa  in  the  gardens  of 
the  Grange  after  dinner.  Helena  was  very 
silent;  yet  to  Norah  the  silence  did  not  seem 
empty.  Over  against  them,  on  its  high  hill, 
stood  Scarsmoor  Castle.  Roger  had  dined 
with  them,  but  had  now  gone  back. 

Suddenly  —  and  boldly  —  Norah  spoke. 

[202] 


An  Armistice 
**Do  you  see  those  three  lighted  windows 
on  the  ground  floor  at  the  left  end  of  the 
house  ?  That's  his  library,  Helena.  He  sits 
there  in  the  evening.  Oh,  I  do  wonder  what 
he's  been  doing  all  this  week!^' 

"What  does  It  matter?"  asked  the  Mar- 
chesa  coldly. 

"What  will  he  propose,  do  you  think.?" 

"  Mr.  Stillford  thinks  he  may  offer  to  pay 
me  some  small  rent  —  more  or  less  nominal 
—  for  a  perpetual  right  —  and  that,  if  he 
does,  I'd  better  accept." 

"That'll  be  rather  a  dull  ending  to  it  all. " 

"  Mr.  Stillford  thinks  it  would  be  a  favor- 
able one  for  me." 

"I  don't  believe  he  means  to  pay  you 
money.  It'll  be  something"  —  she  paused  a 
moment  —  "something  prettier  than  that.'* 

"What  has  prettiness  to  do  with  it,  you 
child  ?  Willi  a  right  of  way  ?" 

[  203  ] 


Helena's  Path 

"Prettlness  has  to  do  with  you,  though, 
Helena.  You  don't  suppose  he  thinks  only 
of  that  wretched  path  ?" 

The  flush  came  on  the  Marchesa's  cheek. 

*' He  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  seen  me," 
she  protested. 

"  Then  look  your  best  when  he  does  — 
for  I'm  sure  he's  dreamed  of  you. " 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

Norah  laughed.  Because  he's  a  man  who 
takes  a  lot  of  notice  of  pretty  women  —  and 
he  took  so  very  little  notice  of  me.  That's 
why  I  think  so,  Helena. " 

The  Marchesa  made  no  comment  on  the 
reason  given.  But  now  — at  last  and  undoubt- 
edly —  she  looked  across  at  the  windows 
of  Scarsmoor. 

"We  shall  come  to  some  business  ar- 
rangement, I  suppose  —  and  then  it'll  aU 
be  over,"   she  said. 

[204] 


An  Armistice 

All  over  ?  The  trouble  and  the  enmity  — • 
the  defiance  and  the  fight  —  the  excitement 
and  the  fun  ?  The  duel  would  be  stayed,  the 
combatants  and  their  seconds  would  go 
their  various  ways  across  the  diverging 
tracks  of  this  great  dissevering  world. 
All  would  be  over! 

"Then  we  shall  have  time  to  think  of 
something  else!"  the  Marchesa  added. 

Norah  smiled  discreetly.  Was  not  that 
something  of  an  admission  ? 

In  the  library  at  Scarsmoor  Lynborough 
was  inditing  the  proposal  which  he  intended 
to  submit  by  his  ambassadors  on  the  mor- 
row. 


[  205  J 


Chapter  Twelve 

AN   EMBASSAGE 

The  Marchesa's  last  words  to  Lady  Norah 
betrayed  the  state  of  her  mind.  While  the 
question  of  the  path  was  pending,  she  had 
been  unable  to  think  of  anything  else;  until 
it  was  settled  she  could  think  of  nobody 
except  of  the  man  in  whose  hands  the  settle- 
ment lay.  Whether  Lynborough  attracted 
or  repelled,  he  at  least  occupied  and  filled 
her  thoughts.  She  had  come  to  recognize 
where  she  stood  and  to  face  the  position. 
Stillford's  steady  pessimism  left  her  no  hope 
from  an  invocation  of  the  law;  Lynborough's 
dexterity  and  resource  promised  her  no 
abiding  victory  —  at  best  only  precarious 

[206] 


An  Embassage 
temporary  successes  —  in  a  private  con- 
tinuance of  the  struggle.  Worst  of  all  — 
whilst  she  chafed  or  wept,  he  laughed! 
Certainly  not  to  her  critical  friends,  hardly 
even  to  her  proud  self,  would  she  confess 
that  she  lay  in  her  antagonist's  mercy;  but 
the  feeling  of  that  was  in  her  heart.  If  so 
he  could  humiliate  her  sorely. 

Could  he  spare  her  ?  Or  would  he  ?  Try 
how  she  might,  it  was  hard  to  perceive 
how  he  could  spare  her  without  abandoning 
his  right.  That  she  was  sure  he  would  not 
do;  all  she  heard  of  him,  every  sharp  intui- 
tion of  him  which  she  had,  the  mere  glimpse 
of  his  face  as  he  passed  by  on  Sandy  Nab, 
told  her  that. 

But  if  he  consented  to  pay  a  small  —  a 
nominal  —  rent,  would  not  her  pride  be 
spared  ?  No.  That  would  be  victory  for  him; 
she  would  be  com2)elled  to  surrender  what 

207  ] 


Helena^ s  Path 
she  had  haughtily  refused,  in  return  for 
something  which  she  did  not  want  and 
which  was  of  no  value.  If  that  were  a  cloak 
for  her  pride,  the  fabric  of  it  was  terribly 
threadbare.  Even  such  concession  as  lay  in 
such  an  offer  she  had  wrung  from  him  by 
setting  his  friends  against  him;  would  that 
incline  him  to  tenderness  ?  The  offer  might 
leave  his  friends  still  unreconciled;  what 
comfort  was  that  to  her  when  once  the  fight 
and  the  excitement  of  countering  blow  with 
blow  were  done  —  when  all  was  over  ?  And 
it  was  more  likely  that  what  seemed  to  her 
cruel  would  seem  to  Stabb  and  Roger 
reasonable  —  men  had  a  terribly  rigid  sense 
of  reason  in  business  matters.  They  would 
return  to  their  allegiance;  her  friends  would 
be  ranged  on  the  same  side;  she  would  be 
alone  —  alone  in  humiliation  and  defeat. 
From  that  fate  in  the  end  only  Lynborough 

[208] 


An  Embassage 
himself  could  rescue  her;  only  the  man  who 
threatened  her  with  it  could  avert  it.  And 
how  could  even  he,  save  by  a  surrender 
which  he  would  not  make  ?  Yet  if  he  found 
out  a  way  ? 

The  thought  of  that  possibility  —  though 
she  could  devise  or  imagine  no  means  by 
which  it  might  find  accomplishment  — 
carried  her  toward  Lynborough  in  a  rush 
of  feeling.  The  idea  —  never  wholly  lost  even 
in  her  moments  of  anger  and  dejection  — 
came  back  —  the  idea  that  all  the  time  he 
had  been  playing  a  game,  that  he  did  not 
want  the  wounds  to  be  mortal,  that  in  the 
end  he  did  not  hate.  If  he  did  not  hate,  he 
would  not  desire  to  hurt.  But  he  desired  to 
win.  Could  he  win  without  hurting  ?  Then 
there  was  a  reward  for  him  —  applause  for 
his  cleverness,  and  gratitude  for  his  chivaliy. 

Stretching  out  her  arms  toward  Scarsmoor 

[209] 


Helena's  Path 
Castle,  she  vowed  that  according  to  his  deed 
she  could  hate  or  love  Lord  Lynborough. 
The  next  day  was  to  decide  that  weighty 
question. 

The  fateful  morning  arrived  —  the  last 
day  of  the  armistice  —  the  twenty-third. 
The  ladies  were  sitting  on  the  lawn  after 
breakfast  when  Stillford  came  out  of  the 
house  with  a  quick  step  and  an  excited  air. 

"Marchesa,"  he  said,  "the  Embassy 
has  arrived!  Stabb  and  Wilbraham  are  at 
the  front  door,  asking  an  audience  of  you. 
They  bring  the  proposal !" 

The  Marchesa  laid  down  her  book;  Miss 
Gilletson  made  no  effort  to  conceal  her 
agitation. 

"Why  didn't  they  come  by  the  path?" 
cried  Norah. 

"They  couldn't  very  well;  Lynborough's 
sent  them  in  a  carriage  —  with  postilions 

[210] 


An  Embassage 
and  four  horses,"  Stillford  answered  gravely. 
**Thc  j)ostilions  appear  to  be  amused,  but 
the  Ambassadors  are  exceedingly  solemn." 

The  Marchesa's  spirits  rose.  If  the  piece 
were  to  be  a  comedy,  she  could  play  her  part ! 
The  same  idea  was  in  Stillford's  mind. 
*'  He  can't  mean  to  be  very  unpleasant  if  he 
plays  the  fool  like  this,"  he  said,  looking 
round  on  the  company  with  a  smile. 

"Admit  the  Ambassadors!"  cried  the 
Marchesa  gaily.  • 

The  Ambassadors  were  ushered  on  to  the 
lawn.  They  advanced  with  a  gravity  be- 
fitting the  occasion,  and  bowed  low  to  the 
Marchesa.  Roger  carried  a  roll  of  paper  of 
impressive  dimensions.  Stillford  placed 
chairs  for  the  Ambassadors  and,  at  a  sign 
from  the  Marchesa,  they  seated  themselves. 

*'What    is    your    message.^"    asked    tlie 

Marchesa.  Suddenly  nervousness  and  fear 

[211] 


Helenas  Path 
laid  hold  of  her  again;  her  voice  shook  a 
little. 

"  We  don't  know,"  answered  Stabb.  "Give 
me  the  document,  Roger. " 

Roger  Wilbraham  handed  him  the  scroll. 

"We  are  charged  to  deliver  this  to  your 
Excellency's  adviser,  and  to  beg  him  to  read 
it  to  you  in  our  presence. "  He  rose,  delivered 
the  scroll  into  Stillford's  hands,  and  re- 
turned, majestic  in  his   bulk,  to   his   seat. 

"You  neither  of  you  know  what's  in  it  .^'* 
the  Marchesa  asked. 

They  shook  their  heads. 

The  Marchesa  took  hold  of  Norah's  hand 
and  said  quietly,  "Please  read  it  to  us,  Mr. 
Stillford.  I  should  like  you  all  to  hear. " 

"That  was  also  Lord  Lynborough's  de- 
sire," said  Roger  Wilbraham. 

Stillford  unrolled  the  paper.  It  was  all  in 
Lynborough's    own    hand  —  written    large 

[212] 


An  Embassage 
and  with  fair  flourishes.  In  mockery  of  the 
institution  he  hated,  he  had  cast  it  in  a 
form  which  at  all  events  aimed  at  being 
legal;  too  close  scrutiny  on  that  score  per- 
haps it  would  not  abid  successfully. 

"Silence  while  the  document  is  read!" 
said  Stillford;  and  he  proceeded  to  read  it 
in  a  clear  and  deliberate  voice: 

"  'Sir  Ambrose  Athelstan  Caverly,  Bar- 
onet, Baron  Lynborough  of  Lynborough  in 
the  County  of  Dorset  and  of  Scarsmoor  in 
the  Coimty  of  Yorkshire,  unto  her  Excel- 
lency Helena  Vittoria  Maria  Antonia,  Mar- 
chesa  di  San  Servolo,  and  unto  All  to 
whom  these  Presents  Come,  Greeting. 
Whereas  the  said  Lord  Lynborough  and  his 
predecessors  in  title  have  been  ever  entitled 
as  of  right  to  pass  and  repass  along  the  path 
called  Beach  Path  leading  across  the  lands 
of  Nab  Grange  from  the  road  bounding  the 

[213] 


Hele7ia's  Path 
same  on  the  west  to  the  seashore  on  the  east 
thereof,  and  to  use  the  said  path  by  them- 
selves, their  agents  and  servants,  at  their 
pleasure,  without  let  or  interference  from 
any  person  or  persons  whatsoever '  " 

Stillford  paused  and  looked  at  the  Mar- 
chesa.  The  document  did  not  begin  in  a 
conciliatory  manner.  It  asserted  the  right 
to  use  Beach  Path  in  the  most  uncompro- 
mising way. 

"Go  on,"  commanded  the  Marchesa, 
a  little  flushed,  still  holding  Norah's  hand. 

"  *And  Whereas  the  said  Lord  Lyn- 
borough  is  desirous  that  his  rights  as  above 
defined  shall  receive  the  recognition  of  the 
said  Marchesa,  which  recognition  has  hither- 
to been  withheld  and  refused  by  the  said 
Marchesa :  And  Whereas  great  and  manifold 
troubles  have  arisen  from  such  refusal: 
And  Whereas  the  said  Lord  Lynborough  is 

[214] 


All  Embassage 
desirous  of  dwelling  in  peace  and  amity  with 
the  said  Marchesa ' 

"There,  Helena,  you  see  he  is!"  cried 
Norah  triumphantly. 

"I  really  must  not  be  interrupted,"  Still- 
ford  protested.  "  'Now  Therefore  the  said 
Lord  Lynborough,  moved  thereunto  by 
divers  considerations  and  in  chief  by  his 
said  desire  to  dwell  in  amity  and  good-will, 
doth  engage  and  undertake  that,  in  consider- 
ation of  his  receiving  a  full,  gracious,  and 
amicable  recognition  of  his  right  from  the 
said  Marchesa,  he  shall  and  will,  year  by 
year  and  once  a  year,  to  wit  on  the  Feast  of 
St.  John  Baptist,  also  known  as  Midsummer 
Day '  " 

"Why,  that's  to-morrow !"  exclaimed  Vio- 
let Dufaure. 

Once  more  Stillford  commanded  silence. 
The  Terms  of  Peace  were  not  to  be  rudely 

[215] 


Helena's  Path 
interrupted  just  as  they  were  reaching  the 
most    interesting    point.    For    up    to    now 
nothing  had  come  except  a  renewed  asser- 
tion of  Lynborough's  right! 

"  *That  is  to  say  the  twenty-fourth  day 
of  June  —  repair  in  his  own  proper  person, 
with  or  without  attendants  as  shall  seem 
to  him  good,  to  Nab  Grange  or  such  other 
place  as  may  then  and  on  each  occasion  be 
the  abode  and  residence  of  the  said  Mar- 
chesa,  and  shall  and  will  present  himself 
in  the  presence  of  the  said  Marchesa  at  noon. 
And  that  he  then  shall  and  will  do  homage 
to  the  said  Marchesa  for  such  full,  gracious, 
and  amicable  recognition  as  above  men- 
tioned by  falling  on  his  knee  and  kissing 
the  hand  of  the  said  Marchesa.  And  if  the 
said  Lord  Lynborough  shall  wilfully  or  by 
neglect  omit  so  to  present  himself  and  so 
to  pay  his  homage  on  any  such  Feast  of  St. 

[216] 


An  Embassage 
John  Baptist,  tlien  his  said  right  shall  be  of 
no  effect  and  shall  be  suspended  (And  he 
hereby  engages  not  to  exercise  the  same) 
until  he  shall  have  purged  his  contempt  or 
neglect  by  performing  his  homage  on  the 
next  succeeding  Feast.  Provided  Always 
that  the  said  Marchesa  shall  and  will, 
a  sufficient  time  before  the  said  Feast  in  each 
year,  apprise  and  inform  the  said  Lord 
Lynborough  of  her  intended  place  of  resi- 
dence, in  default  whereof  the  said  Lord  Lyn- 
borough shall  not  be  bound  to  pay  his  hom- 
age and  shall  suffer  no  diminution  of  his 
right  by  reason  of  the  omission  thereof. 
Provided  Further  and  Finally  that  whenso- 
ever the  said  Lord  Lynborough  shall  duly 
and  on  the  due  date  as  in  these  Presents 
stipulated  present  himself  at  Nab  Grange 
or  elsewhere  the  residence  for  the  time  be- 
ing of  the  said  Marchesa,  and  claim  to  be 

[217] 


Helenas  Path 
admitted  to  the  presence  of  the  said  Marchesa 
and  to  perform  his  homage  as  herein  pre- 
scribed and  ordered,  the  said  Marchesa  shall 
not  and  will  not,  on  any  pretext  or  for  any 
cause  whatsoever,  deny  or  refuse  to  accept 
the  said  homage  so  duly  proffered,  but  shall 
and  will  in  all  gracious  condescension  and 
neighborly  friendship  extend  and  give  her 
hand  to  the  said  Lord  Lynborough,  to  the 
end  and  purpose  that,  he  rendering  and  she 
accepting  his  homage  in  all  mutual  trust  and 
honorable  confidence.  Peace  may  reign 
between  Nab  Grange  and  Scarsmoor  Castle 
so  long  as  they  both  do  stand.  In  Witness 
whereof  the  said  Lord  Lynborough  has 
affixed  his  name  on  the  Eve  of  the  said 
Feast  of  St.  John  Baptist. 

Lynborough.'  " 

Stillford  ended  his  reading,  and  handed 

the   scroll   to   the   Marchesa   with   a   bow. 

[218] 


An  Embassage 
She  took  it  and  looked  at  Lynborough's 
signature.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  and 
her  Hps  struggled  not  to  smile.  The  rest  were 
silent.  She  looked  at  Stillford,  who  smiled 
back  at  her  and  drew  from  his  pocket  —  a 
stylographic  pen. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  and  took  it. 

She    wrote    below    Lynborougli's    name: 

"  In  Witness  whereof,  in  a  desire  for  peace 
and  amity,  in  all  mutual  trust  and  honor- 
able confidence,  the  said  Marchesa  has 
aflBxed  her  name  on  this  same  Eve  of  the 
said  Feast  of  St.  John  Baptist. 

Helena  di  San  Servolo." 

She  handed  it  back  to  Stillford.  "Let  it 
dry  in  the  beautiful  sunlight,"  she  said. 

The  Ambassadors  rose  to  their  feet.  She 
rose  too  and  went  over  to  Stabb  with 
outstretched  hands.  A  broad  smile  spread 
over  Stabb's  spacious  face.  "It's  just  like 

[219] 


Helena's  Path 
Ambrose,"  he  said  to  her  as  he  took  her 
hands.  "He  gets  what  he  wants  —  but  in  the 
prettiest  way!" 

She  answered  him  in  a  low  voice:  "A 
very  knightly  way  of  saving  a  fooUsh  wo- 
man's pride."  She  raised  her  voice.  "Bid 
Lord  Lynborough  —  aye,  Sir  Ambrose 
Athelstan  Caverly,  Baron  Lynborough,  at- 
tend here  at  Nab  Grange  to  pay  his  homage 
to-morrow  at  noon."  She  looked  round  on 
them  all,  smiling  now  openly,  the  red  in  her 
cheeks  all  triumphant  over  her  olive  hue. 
"Say  I  will  give  him  private  audience  to 
receive  his  homage  and  to  ask  his  friend- 
ship." With  that  the  Marchesa  departed, 
somewhat  suddenly,   into   the  house. 

Amid  much  merriment  and  reciprocal 
congratulations  the  Ambassadors  were  hon- 
orably  escorted  back  to  their  coach  and 
four. 

[220] 


An  Embassage 

"Keep  your  eye  on  the  Castle  to-night,'* 
Roger  Wilbraham  whispered  to  Norah  as 
he   pressed   her   hand. 

They  drove  off,  Stillford  leading  a  gay 
"Hurrah!" 

At  night  indeed  Scarsmoor  Castle  was  a 
sight  to  see.  Every  window  of  its  front 
blazed  with  light;  rockets  and  all  manner 
of  amazing  bright  devices  rose  to  heaven. 
All  Fillby  turned  out  to  see  the  show;  all 
Nab  Grange  was  in  the  garden  looking  on. 

All  save  Helena  herself.  She  had  re- 
treated to  her  own  room ;  there  she  sat  and 
watched  alone.  She  was  in  a  fever  of  feeling 
and  could  not  rest.  She  twisted  one  hand 
round  the  other,  she  held  up  before  her 
eyes  the  hand  which  was  destined  to  receive 
homage  on  the  morrow.  Ilcr  eyes  were 
bright,  her  cheeks  flushed,  her  red  lips 
trembled. 

[221] 


Helena's  Path 

"Alas,  how  this  man  knows  his  way  to 
my  heart!"  she  sighed. 

The  blaze  at  Scarsmoor  Castle  died  down. 
A  kindly  darkness  fell.  Under  its  friendly 
cover  she  kissed  her  hand  to  the  Castle, 
murmuring  "  To-morrow ! ' ' 


[222] 


Chapter  Thirteen 

THE   FEAST   OF   ST.    JOHN    BAPTIST 

"As  there's  a  heaven  above  us,"  wrote 
Lynboroiigh  that  same  night  —  having  been, 
one  would  fain  hope,  telepathically  conscious 
of  the  hand-kissing  by  tlie  red  Hps,  of  the 
softly  breathed  "To-morrow!"  (for  if  he 
were  not,  what  becomes  of  Love's  Magic  ?) 
—  *'  As  there's  a  heaven  above  us,  I  have 
succeeded !  Her  answer  is  more  than  a  con- 
sent —  it's  an  appreciation.  The  rogue  knew 
how  she  stood:  she  is  haughtily,  daintily 
grateful.  Does  she  know  how  near  she  drove 
me  to  the  abominable  thing  ?  Almost  had 
I  —  I,  Ambrose  Caverly  —  issued  a  writ ! 
T  should  never,  in  all  my  life,  have  got  over 

[223] 


Helena's  Path 
the  feeling  of  being  a  bailiff!  She  has  saved 
me  by  the  rightness  of  her  taste.  *Knightly' 
she  called  it  to  old  Cromlech.  Well,  that  was 
in  the  blood  —  it  had  been  my  own  fault  if 
I  had  lost  it,  no  credit  of  mine  if  to  some 
measure  I  have  it  still.  But  to  find  the 
recognition!  I  have  lit  up  the  country-side 
to-night  to  celebrate  that  rare  discovery. 

"  Rare  —  yes  —  yet  not  doubted.  I  knew 
it  of  her.  I  believe  that  I  have  broken  all 
records  —  since  the  Renaissance  at  least. 
Love  at  first  sight!  Where's  the  merit  in 
that  ?  Given  the  sight  be  fine  enough  (a 
thing  that  I  pray  may  not  admit  of  doubt  in 
the  case  of  Helena),  it  is  no  exploit;  it  is 
rather  to  suffer  the  inevitable  than  to  achieve 
the  great.  But  unless  the  sight  of  a  figure  a 
hundred  yards  away  —  and  of  a  back  fifty 
■ —  is  to  count  against  me  as  a  practical 
inspection,  I  am  so  supremely  lucky  as  never 

[224] 


The  Feast  of  St.  John  Baptist 
to  have  seen  her!  I  have  made  her  for  my- 
self —  a  few  tags  of  description,  a  noting 
of  the  effect  on  Roger  and  on  Cromlech, 
mildly  (and  very  unimaginatively)  aided 
my  work,  I  admit  —  but  for  the  most  part 
and  in  all  essentials,  she,  as  I  love  her  (for 
of  course  I  love  her,  or  no  amount  of  Feast 
of  St.  John  Baptist  should  have  moved  me 
from  my  path  —  take  that  for  literal  or  for 
metaphorical  as  ye  will !)  —  is  of  my  own 
craftsmanship  —  work  of  my  heart  and 
brain,  wrought  just  as  I  would  have  her  — 
as  I  knew,  through  all  delightful  wander- 
ings, that  some  day  she  must  come  to  me. 
"  Think  then  of  my  mood  for  to-morrow ! 
With  what  feelings  do  I  ring  the  bell  (unless 
perchance  it  be  a  knocker) !  With  what 
sensations  accost  the  butler!  With  what 
emotions  enter  the  presence!  Because  if 
by  chance    I    am    wrong  — !    Upon  which 

[225] 


Helena's  Path 
awful  doubt  arises  the  question  whether,  if 
I  be  wrong,  I  can  go  back.  I  am  plaguily 
the  slave  of  putting  the  thing  as  prettily 
as  it  can  be  put  (Thanks,  Cromlech,  for 
giving  me  the  adverb  —  not  so  bad  a  touch 
for  a  Man  of  Tombs!),  and,  on  my  soul,  I 
have  put  that  homage  of  mine  so  prettily 
that  one  who  was  prudent  would  have  ad- 
dressed it  to  none  other  than  a  married  lady 

—  vivente  marito,  be  it  understood.  But  from 
my  goddess  her  mortal  mate  is  gone  —  and 
to  explain  —  nay,  not  to  explain  (which 
would    indeed    tax    every    grace    of    style) 

—  but  to  let  it  appear  that  the  homage 
lingers,  abides,  and  is  confined  within  the 
letter  of  the  bond  —  that  would  seem  scarce 
'knightly.'  Therefore,  being  (as  all  tell  me) 
more  of  a  fool  than  most  men,  and  (as  I 
soberly  hope)  not  less  of  a  gentleman,  I 
stand  thus.  I  love  the  Image  I  have  made 

[  226  ] 


Ths  Feast  of  St.  John  Baptist 
out  of  dim  distant  sight,  prosaic  shreds  of 
catalogued  description,  a  vividly  creating 
mind,  and  —  to  be  candid  —  the  absolute 
necessity  of  amusing  myself  in  the  country. 
But  the  Woman  I  am  to  see  to-morrow  ? 
Is  she  the  Image  ?  I  shall  know  in  the  first 
moment  of  our  encounter.  If  she  is,  all  is 
well  for  me  —  for  her  it  will  be  just  a  ques- 
tion of  her  dower  of  heavenly  venturousness. 
If  she  is  not  —  in  my  humble  judgment, 
you,  Ambrose  Cavcrly,  having  put  the  thing 
with  so  excessive  a  prettiness,  shall  for  your 
art's  sake  perish  —  you  must,  in  short,  if 
you  would  end  this  thing  in  the  manner 
(creditable  to  yourself,  Ambrose!)  in  which 
it  has  hitherto  been  conducted,  willy-nilly, 
hot  or  cold,  confirmed  in  divine  dreams  or 
slapped  in  the  face  by  disenchanting  fact  — • 
within  a  brief  space  of  time,  propose  mar- 
riage to  this  lady.  If  there  be  any  other  course, 

[227] 


Helena's  Path 
the  gods  send  me  scent  of  it  this  night!  But 
if  she  should  refuse  ?  Reckon  not  on  that. 
For  the  more  she  fall  short  of  her  Image,  the 
more  will  she  grasp  at  an  outward  showing 
of  triumph  —  and  the  greatest  outward 
triumph  would  not  be  in  refusal. 

"  In  my  human  weakness  I  wish  that  — 
just  for  once  —  I  had  seen  her !  But  in  the 
strong  spirit  of  the  wine  of  life  —  whereof 
I  have  been  and  am  an  inveterate  and  most 
incurable  bibber  —  I  rejoice  in  that  wonder- 
ful moment  of  mine  to-morrow  —  when  the 
door  of  the  shrine  opens,  and  I  see  the  god- 
dess before  whom  my  offering  must  be  laid. 
Be  she  giant  or  dwarf,  be  she  black  or  white, 
have  she  hair  or  none  —  by  the  powers, 
if  she  wears  a  sack  only,  and  is  well  advised 
to  stick  close  to  that,  lest  casting  it  should 
be  a  change  for  the  worse  —  in  any  event 
the  offering  must  be  made.  Even  so  the 

[228] 


The  Feast  of  St.  John  Baptist 
Prince  in  the  tales,  making  his  vows  to  the 
Beast  and  not  yet  knowing  if  his  spell  shall 
transform  it  to  the  Beauty!  In  my  stronger 
moments,  so  would  I  have  it.  Years  of  life 
shall  I  live  in  that  moment  to-morrow! 
If  it  end  ill,  no  human  being  but  myself 
shall  know.  If  it  end  well,  the  world  is  not 
great  enough  to  hold,  nor  the  music  of  its 
spheres  melodious  enough  to  sound,  my 
triumph!" 

It  will  be  observed  that  Lord  Lynborough, 
though  indeed  no  novice  in  the  cruel  and 
tender  passion,  was  appreciably  excited 
on  the  Eve  of  the  Feast  of  St.  John  Baptist. 
In  view  of  so  handsome  a  response,  the 
Marchesa's  kiss  of  the  hand  and  her  mur- 
mured "To-morrow"  may  pass  excused  of 
forwardness. 

It  was,  nevertheless,  a  gentleman  to  all 
seeming  most  cool  and  calm  who  presented 

[229] 


Helena  s  Path 
himself  at  the  doors  of  Nab  Grange  at 
eleven  fift^^-five  the  next  morning.  His  Am- 
bassadors had  come  in  magnificence;  hum- 
bly he  walked  —  and  not  by  Beach  Path, 
since  his  homage  was  not  yet  paid  —  but 
round  by  the  far-stretching  road  and  up 
the  main  avenue  most  decorously.  Stabb 
and  Roger  had  cut  across  by  the  path  — 
holding  the  Marchesa's  leave  and  license 
so  to  do  —  and  had  joined  an  excited  group 
which  sat  on  chairs  under  sheltering  trees. 

"I  wish  she  hadn't  made  the  audience 
private!"  said  Norah  Mountliffey. 

*'  If  ever  a  keyhole  were  justifiable  — 
sighed  Violet  Dufaure. 

"My  dear,  I'd  box  your  ears  myself, 
Miss   Gilletson  brusquely  interrupted. 

The  Marchesa  sat  in  a  high  arm-chair, 
upholstered  in  tarnished  fading  gold.  The 
sun  from  the  window  shone  on  her  hair; 

[230] 


>> 


i* 


The  Feast  of  St.  John  Bajytist 
her  face  was  half  in  shadow.  She  rented 
her  head  on  her  left;  hand  the  right  lay  on 
her  knee.  It  was  stripped  of  any  ring  — 
unadorned  white.  Her  cheeks  were  pale  — 
the  olive  reigned  unchallenged;  her  lips 
were  set  tight,  her  eyes  downcast.  She  made 
no  movement  when  Lord  Lynborough  en- 
tered. 

He  bowed  low,  but  said  nothing.  He 
stood  opposite  to  her  some  two  yards  away. 
The  clock  ticked.  It  wanted  still  a  minute 
before  noon  struck.  That  was  the  minute 
of  which  Lynborough  had  raved  and  dream- 
ed the  night  before.  He  had  the  fruit  of  it  in 
full  measure. 

The  first  stroke  of  twelve  rang  silvery 
from  the  clock.  Lynborough  advanced  and 
fell  upon  his  knee.  She  did  not  lift  her  eyes, 
but  slowly  raised  her  hand  from  her  knee. 
He  placed  his  hand  under  it,  pressing  it  a 

[231] 


Helena^ s  Path 
little  upward  and  bowing  his  head  to  meet 
it  half-way  in  its  ascent.  She  felt  his  lips 
lightly  brush  the  skin.  His  homage  for 
Beach  Path  and  his  right  therein  was  duly 
paid. 

Slowly  he  rose  to  his  feet;  slowly  her  eyes 
turned  upward  to  his  face.  It  was  ablaze 
with  a  great  triumph;  the  fire  seemed  to 
spread  to  her  cheeks. 

"It's  better  than  I  dreamed  or  hoped," 
he  murmured. 

*'  What  ?  To  have  peace  between  us  ? 
Yes,   it's  good." 

"I  have  never  seen  your  face  before. 
She  made  no  answer.  "  Nor  you  mine  ? 
he    asked. 

"  Once  on  Sandy  Nab  you  passed  by  me. 
You  didn't  notice  me  —  but,  yes,  I  saw  you. " 
Her  eyes  were  steadily  on  him  now;  the 
flush  had  ceased  to  deepen,  nay,  had  re- 

[232] 


>> 


>> 


The  Feast  of  St.  John  Baptist 
ceded,   but   abode   still,   tingeing   the   olive 
of  her  cheeks. 

"I  have  rendered  my  homage,"  he  said. 

"It  is  accepted."  Suddenly  tears  sprang 
to  her  eyes.  "And  you  might  have  been  so 
cruel  to  me!"  she  whispered. 

*'  To  you  ?  To  you  who  carry  the  power 
of  a  world  in  your  face  ?" 

The  Marchesa  was  confused  —  as  was, 
perhaps,  hardly  unnatural. 

"There  are  other  things,  besides  gates 
and  walls,  and  Norah's  head,  that  you  jump 
over,  Lord  Lynborough. " 

"I  lived  a  life  while  I  stood  waitinjr  for  the 
clock  to  strike.  I  have  tried  for  life  before 
—  in  that  minute  I  found  it."  He  seemed 
suddenly  to  awake  as  though  from  a  dream. 
"But  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  have  paid  my 
dues.  The  bond  gives  me  no  right  to  linger. " 

She    rose    with    a    light    laugh  —  yet    it 

[233] 


Helena's  Path 
sounded  nervous.  *'  Is  it  good-by  till  next  St. 
John  Baptist's  day  ?" 

"You  would  see  me  walking  on  Beach 
Bath  day  by  day." 

"I  never  call  it  Beach  Path." 

"May  it  now  be  called  —  Helena's.^" 

"Or  will  you  stay  and  lunch  with  me  to- 
day ?  And  you  might  even  pay  homage 
again  —  say  to-morrow  —  or  —  or  some  day 
in  the  week." 

"Lunch,  most  certainly.  That  commits 
me  to  nothing.  Homage,  Marchesa,  is  quite 
another  matter." 

"Your  chivalry  is  turning  to  bargaining, 
Lord  Lynborough." 

"  It  was  never  anything  else, "  he  answered. 
*' Homage  is  rendered  in  payment  —  that's 
why  one  says  'Whereas.'  "  His  keen  eager 
eyes  of  hazel  raised  once  more  the  flood  of 
subdued  crimson  in  her  face.  "For  every 

[234  J 


The  Feast  of  St.  John  Baptist 
recognition  of  a  right  of  mine,  I  will  pay  you 
homage  according  to  the  form  prescribed  for 
St.  John  Baptist's  Feast." 

"  Of  what  other  rights  do  you  ask  recogni- 
tion.?" 

"There  might  be  the  right  of  welcoming 
you  at  Scarsmoor  to-morrow  ?" 

She  made  him  a  little  curtsy.  "It  is  ac- 
corded —  on  the  prescribed  terms,  my  lord. " 

"That  will  do  for  the  twenty-fifth.  There 
might  be  the  right  of  escorting  you  home  from 
Scarsmoor  by  the  path  called  —  Helena's  ?" 

"On  the  prescribed  terms  it  is  your  lord- 
ship's." 

"What  then  of  the  right  to  see  you  daily, 
and  day  by  day  ?" 

"If  your  leisure  serves,  my  lord,  I  will 
endeavor  to  adjust  mine  —  so  long  as  we 
both  remain  at  Fillby.  But  so  that  the  hom- 
age is  paid!" 

[235] 


<«  T', 


Helena's  Path 
But  if  you  go  away  ?" 
I'm  bound  to  tell  you  of  my  where- 
abouts only  on  St.  John  Baptist's  Feast." 

"  The  right  to  know  it  on  other  days  — 
would  that  be  recognized  in  return  for  a 
homage,  Marchesa  ?" 

"One  homage  for  so  many  letters  ?" 

"  I  had  sooner  there  were  no  letters  — 
and  daily  homages." 

"  You  take  too  many  obligations  —  and 
too   lightly." 

"  For  every  one  I  gain  the  recognition  of  a 
right." 

"  The  richer  you  grow  in  rights  then,  the 
harder  you  must  work ! " 

"I  would  have  so  many  rights  accorded 
me  as  to  be  no  better  than  a  slave!"  cried 
Lynborough.  'Yet,  if  I  have  not  one,  still 
I  have  nothing." 

She  spoke  no  word,  but  looked  at  him 

[236] 


The  Feast  of  St.  John  Baptist 
long  and  searcliingly.  She  was  not  nervous 
now,  but  proud.  Her  look  bade  him  weigh 
words ;  they  had  passed  beyond  the  borders 
of  merriment,  beyond  the  bandying  of 
challenges.  Yet  her  eyes  carried  no  pro- 
hibition; it  was  a  warning  only.  She  inter- 
posed no  conventional  check,  no  plea  for 
time.  She  laid  on  him  the  responsibility 
for  his  speech;  let  him  remember  that  he 
owed  her  homage. 

They  grew  curious  and  restless  on  the 
lawn;  the  private  audience  lasted  long,  the 
homage  took  much  time  in  paying. 

"A  marvelous  thing  has  come  to  me,'* 
said  Lynborough,  speaking  slower  than  his 
wont,  "and  with  it  a  great  courage.  I  have 
seen  my  dream.  This  morning  I  came  here 
not  knowing  whether  I  should  see  it.  I 
don't  speak  of  the  face  of  my  dream-image 
only,  though  I  could  speak  till  next  St.  John's 

[237] 


Helena* s  Path 
Day  upon  that.  I  speak  to  a  soul.  I  think  our 
souls  have  known  one  another  1  nger,  aye, 
and  better  than  our  faces." 

"Yes,  I  think  it  is  so,"  she  said  quietly. 
"Yet  who  can  tell  so  soon.?" 

"There's  a  great  gladness  upon  me  be- 
cause my  dream  came  true. " 

"Who  can  tell  so  soon  .?"  she  asked  again. 
"  It's  strange  to  speak  of  it. ' 

"  It  may  be  that  some  day  —  yes,  some 
day  soon  —  in  return  for  the  homage  of  my 
lips  on  your  hand,  I  would  ask  the  re  ogni- 
tion  of  my  lip's  right  on  your  cheek." 

She  came  up  to  him  and  laid  her  hand  on 
his  arm.  "Suffer  me  a  little  while,  my  lord," 
she  said.  "You've  swept  into  my  life  like  a 
whirlwind;  you  would  carry  me  by  assault 
as  though  I  were  a  rebellious  city.  Am  I 
to  be  won  before  ever  I  am  wooed  ?" 

"You  sha'n't  lack  wooing,"  he  said  quick- 

[238] 


The  Feast  of  St.  John  Baptist 
ly.  "  Yet  haven't  I  wooed  you  already  —  as 
well  in  my  quarrel  as  in  my  homage,  in  our 
strife  as  in  the  end  of  it  ?" 

"I  think  so,  yes.  Yet  suffer  me  a  little 
still." 

"If  you  doubt — "  he  cried. 

"I  don't  think  I  doubt.  I  linger."  She 
gave  her  hand  into  his.  "It's  strange,  but 
I  cannot  doubt." 

Lynborough  sank  again  upon  his  knee  and 
paid  his  homage.  iVs  he  rose,  she  bent  ever 
so  slightly  toward  him;  delicately  he  kissed 
her  cheek. 

"I  pray  you,"  she  whispered,  "use  gently 
what  you  took  with  that." 

"Here's  a  heart  to  my  heart,  and  a  spirit 
to  my  spirit  —  and  a  glad  venture  to  us 
both!" 

"Come  on  to  the  lawn  now,  but  tell  them 
nothiuir. " 

[  239  ] 


'&• 


Helena  s  Path 

"Save  that  I  have  paid  my  homage,  and 
received  the  recognition  of  my  right  ?" 

"  That,  if  you  will  —  and  that  your  path 
is  to  be  —  henceforward  —  Helena's." 

"I  hope  to  have  no  need  to  travel  far  on 
the  Feast  of  St.  John!"  cried  Lynborough. 

They  went  out  on  the  lawn.  Nothing  was 
asked,  and  nothing  told,  that  day.  In  truth 
there  appeared  to  be  no  need.  For  it  seems 
as  though  Love  were  not  always  invisible, 
nor  the  twang  of  his  bow  so  faint  as  to  elude 
the  ear.  With  joyous  blood  his  glad  wounds 
are  red,  and  who  will  may  tell  the  sufferers. 
Sympathy  too  lends  insight;  your  fellow- 
sufferer  knows  your  plight  first.  There  were 
fellow-sufferers  on  the  lawn  that  day  —  to 
whom,  as  to  all  good  lovers,  here's  God- 
speed . 

She  went  with  him  in  the  afternoon 
through  the  gardens,  over  the  sunk  fence, 

[240] 


The  Feast  oj  St.  John  Baptist 
across  the  meadows,  till  they  came  to  the 
path.  On  it  they  walked  together. 

"So  is  your  right  recognized,  my  lord," 
she  said. 

"We  will  walk  together  on  Helena's 
Path,"  he  answered,  "until  it  leads  us  — 
still  together  —  to  the  Boundless  Sea." 


THE  END 


[241] 


THE   COUNTRY   LIFE    PRESS 
GARDEN   CITY,  N.  Y. 


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